


I Choose Him

by aboutmalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Bit of the Everyone is Gay Trope Going on Here, Alcohol, As in This is Not an Original Idea, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Boys Express Feelings, Boys In Love, Casual swearing, Character Redemption, Draco & Hermione Friendship, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Homophobia, How Groundbreaking, I Blame Tumblr, Lucius bashing, M/M, No Smut, POV Multiple, Pansy Parkinson is a Queen, Ron Weasley Bashing, Sappy, Sharing a Bed, Slytherin Pride, Smol Angsty Teenagers, Some Abusive Language, Sorry Not Sorry, Triwizard Tournament, Truth or Dare, Universe Alteration, Yule Ball, but he gets better I promise, but we tried, flangst, sirius black - Freeform, voldemort - Freeform, you get the picture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9354848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboutmalfoy/pseuds/aboutmalfoy
Summary: Draco Malfoy attempts, rather suddenly, to take action regarding his long-standing crush on Potter, after which fourth year transpires quite a bit differently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Sighs, clears throat* All the characters herein are property of JK Rowling and Scholastics/Bloomsbury. Any and all borrowed dialogue, descriptions and or situations (of which there is more than a fair bit) are as well, and no copyright infringement is intended. This was initially inspired by tumblr posts (shocker!) so all credit to those lovely people as well.  
> Ha. Anyway, this is all dedicated, of course, to H, who finally convinced me to write this and then stuck with me every step of the unexpectedly long way. I loved sharing every minute of this with you.

Harry Potter was beginning to get a bit nervous. There was only a week left until Christmas, when, at this rate, he would have to show up to the Yule Ball dateless and utterly humiliated. Cho's rejection still stung more than he wanted to admit, especially since she was going with Cedric. The only consolation was that Ron had yet to find anyone to take either, but thinking that with any sort of relief only made Harry a poor excuse for a best mate.

"Hey Potter!" Malfoy's unmistakable, honeyed voice interrupted Harry's thoughts and had him tensing before he'd even turned around.  

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry said once he was face to face with the git. Only after he spoke the words did he notice Malfoy was, strangely, alone. Suspicion had Harry clutching his wand, though he didn't yet draw it out. Better to know what Malfoy was up to before he started firing off hexes. The rest of the school had just barely begun to forgive him, and it had taken near death to do it. He wasn't going to start losing House points on top of everything else.

"I'm only curious," began Malfoy. "What with every ghastly looking witch in the castle clawing each other's eyes out over the idea of themselves on the future Champion's arm, how it is you still seem to be without someone to escort to the Ball."

The blood rushed to Harry's face and neck almost instantly. Of course sodding Malfoy would know just what would bother him most right then. He always did. "Future Champion, am I?" Harry bit out. "Last I checked, your badges were still selling quite nicely."

Now that Harry looked, though, the infamous _Potter Stinks_ badge was conspicuously absent from Malfoy's person.

Malfoy shrugged— _shrugged_!" No one was going to stay upset with the Boy Saviour for long. I simply thought there was profit to be made while everyone's ill will of you ran its course. Surely you can't blame me for that?"

Harry gaped. "Are you daft?" he demanded at last. "You were the reason the whole school hated me for months!"

The blond opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut. Harry had fully expected him to say something like, _You were the one who put your name in the Goblet, Potter, if I recall correctly_. Instead, he said "So, in other words, I'm the reason you are without a date?"

"I—what?" Harry couldn't work out what sort of conversation this was, all he knew was that he was painfully embarrassed, and when no one was even around to see it no less. "Bugger off Malfoy! Why do you even care?"

"Oh I don't, I assure you."

"Then why are you bothering to ask?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Simply wondering if you'd like to forget taking some prissy tart and take me instead."

"Hilarious," Harry growled. "Because I'm just that desperate, yeah?"

"I don't think anyone would choose desperate to describe you, Potter. And why wouldn't you want to take me? Because I'm a bloke? That's rather homophobic of you, don't you think?"

Harry's mind seemed to go blank for a moment, his jaw was somewhere beneath him. What on earth kind of scheme was Malfoy playing at? Perhaps there was someone hiding with a camera somewhere, and Malfoy was trying to make Harry look bad now that people were no longer insulting him on his way to class. Well, Harry wouldn't have it. And he was tired of being mocked.

"Bit rich for you of all people to complain about prejudice, Malfoy."

The Slytherin seemed to recoil, but Harry must have imagined it. There was no way for shame to have just flashed through those eyes.

"Suppose that's fair," said Malfoy a moment later. Harry's mind whirled. Surely Draco Malfoy did not admit his own faults.

"Er–right," said Harry, at a loss and suddenly exhausted by the exchange. "So I'm gonna be going now."

He started to turn away, but Malfoy reached out and gripped Harry's arm. The strangest sensation snaked through him at the contact, and he froze in place.

"Wait I—" The blond swallowed and glanced at the ground before meeting Harry’s eyes again. "So that's a no then?"

Harry blinked, then, once the question had registered, yanked his arm away, anger and embarrassment returned full force.

"Sod off," Harry said, and left Malfoy standing in the hallway.

Which was how Harry ended up here, in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione blinking rapidly once he finished recounting the events of a half hour ago. She had the oddest look on her face. "I believe Malfoy, uh, asked you to the Ball."

"What?" Harry said, shaking his head. "No, you're missing the whole point."

Hermione cocked her head to the side, it looked a bit bird-like in Harry's opinion. "Then what was the point?"

"I don't know! That's what I don't understand!"

Ron chose that exact moment to join them. Normally he was content as he always was after dinner, nothing cheered Ron so much as a good meal. But today he was clearly startled to find what looked like Harry shouting at Hermione from across the sofa.

"Oi!" Ron said. "What'd I miss?"

"Malfoy's asked Harry to the Yule Ball," Hermione said promptly, in the same matter-of-fact tone she would use to remind Ron that they had potions homework due tomorrow.

Harry could not recall the last time, if ever, that Ron had laughed so hard. Tears were leaking out of his eyes, and he was down halfway to the floor, shoulders shaking with mirth. A glance at Hermione revealed thin lips and a slightly narrowed gaze. Harry felt distinctly awkward. Finally Ron took a great breath and stopped, at last looking back up at them. His smile slowly melted away as he caught sight of their expressions.

"Wait," he said. "Were you serious?"

"No!" Harry shouted at the same time Hermione said "Quite."

Ron's eyebrows knit together as he glanced between them. "Which is it?"

"He wasn't serious. He was just... being Malfoy," Harry finished lamely.

"I don't know Harry," said Hermione. "It didn't sound like he was very rude to you. And you said he was alone when he asked."

"What does it matter?" Harry asked. "It's _Malfoy_ , Hermione."

"I'd not forgotten," Hermione said dryly.

"You're acting like he meant it!" Harry exclaimed.

"Perhaps he did."

"You're mental," said Ron. "Malfoy's a bloke, and he hates Harry. He's got to be up to something. Right?"

"Right." Harry sounded far more sure than he actually was, and, while Hermione's jaw tightened, she let the conversation drop with little more than a roll of her eyes.

`&`

 

"Bloody Potter!" Draco exclaimed, smashing his fist against the wall and swallowing the consequent cry of pain. Pansy and Blaise sat silently, their expressions identical mixes of annoyance and dismay.

"Rejected by _Harry sodding Potter_ yet again! And it's your fault!" the blond exclaimed, whirling on Pansy.

"Oh no," she said, lifting her chin in defiance. "You don't get to blame me for this one. You decided to fancy him all on your own."

"You think it was a _decision_?" Draco hissed, grabbing the nearest movable object—which in this case was the chess board Pansy and Blaise had been forced to abandon when Draco had stormed into the common room just minutes before—and hurling it towards the wall opposite.

Pansy's eyes narrowed into slits, but she didn't comment.

"No," Blaise said, mildly annoyed that he wouldn’t be allowed to complete his game. "We don't think that. But that doesn't mean you can start assigning blame whenever Potter hurts your feelings."

At that, the blond's eye twitched dangerously. "I didn't ask for this," Draco complained.

"We know darling," Pansy said, thinking it was relatively safe to speak again. "We feel for you, really. But Potter's more than oblivious isn't he? He probably thinks you were having him on, given your history I'm not sure you can blame him."

"But I was _nice_!" Draco whinged.

Blaise seemed unable to help the way his lips tilted upward. "I doubt somehow that your definition of nice and Potter's add up."

Draco huffed out an aggravated breath. "What the rutting hell am I supposed to _do_ then?! I don't know what he _wants_ from me!"

"Maybe start by showing him you actually like him, not taking the piss," Pansy suggested.

Draco blinked at her, then sneered. "Just humiliate myself in front of him then. Yes I'd imagine Potter would quite enjoy that, seeing as he _despises me_. He and the weasel would have a spectacular time laughing their arses off about it, I can practically see it now."

"Probably a good idea to stop calling his best mate a weasel too," Blaise pointed out.

Draco tossed himself down on the sofa opposite, grabbing a pillow to put over his face. "I'm doomed," he said, voice muffled.

"Always so overdramatic," Blaise commented, and then his voice shifted to a mocking pitch. _"Potter didn't shake my hand, he chose Weasley over me. Everything's ruin–"_

He was cut off by Draco's pillow hitting him squarely in the face. "I was _eleven,_ " the blond hissed.

"And yet," said Pansy, "not much seems to have changed."

"Wonder how many times he'll have to reject me before I finally get it, yeah?" Draco said, attempting to sound light. The words, instead, came out rather hollow even to his ears, and he internally winced.

Pansy sighed. "You just need to go about it the right way, love. Despite what you believe, Potter looks at you the same as you look at him."

"No need to lie to make me feel better Panse."

The female Slytherin huffed, her voice returning to sharpness. "When have I ever lied to you for the sake of your ego?"

Draco shrugged, remaining silent.

"We're your friends, Dray," Blaise reminded him, in a tone that suggested Draco may have brain damage.

"Yes I suppose I still have the two of you. Won't show up alone, at least."

Pansy bit her lip at the same time Blaise discovered an immense interest in his nails.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What, I suppose the both of you already have dates then?"

Blaise made a noncommittal gesture, but Pansy snapped, "Why shouldn't we?"

"Who?" Draco demanded.

“No one yet,” Blaise admitted. “Certainly not showing up stag with you, though. I do have _some_ standards.”

Draco glared at him. The only thing that broke off his well rehearsed death stare was Pansy’s voice saying, “Luna.”

Draco's head snapped to her so sharply he nearly gave himself whiplash. "You asked... _Loony Lovegood_?"

Pansy's eyes once again narrowed dangerously, practically daring Draco to insult the Ravenclaw again. "She's genuine and sweet. And she accepted rather happily, thank you very much.”

“Genuine,” Blaise scoffed. “Isn’t she, like, a first year?”

Pansy cut both her friends a venomous look. “She’s _one year_ below us,” she hissed. “And I didn't ask for your approval, funnily enough."

And with that, the Slytherin girl stood up and stormed off to her rooms, leaving Draco slack jawed and Blaise back to silently admiring his nails.

"Fantastic," Draco bit out once he recovered. "Now I'll have to show up alone while Potter'll have a date."

"Who says Potter will have a date?" Blaise asked with clear amusement.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh please. He's the bloody Saviour. He could find a date the day of in the space of time it takes him to walk from his dormitories to the Great Hall."

Blaise laughed. “Oh I know. But it’s comical to hear you admit there’s something _Harry Potter_ can do that you can’t.”

"I'm doomed," Draco repeated.

`&`

At the start of term, the seating arrangements in Potions offended Hermione greatly. She wasn't near the back, of course, but she was nowhere near the front either. She never before had cause to appreciate this fact. But Monday morning, Hermione found herself thinking that her vantage point was rather perfect. Because, while she was not seated in the front, Harry was. And so was Draco Malfoy.

She'd thought Professor Snape even more mad than was usual when he paired the two boys up, or that perhaps he wanted to make Harry as miserable as possible while in his class—even if that meant a sacrifice on the part of his star pupil. And, usually, the two boys acted just as to be expected. Furious whispering and scathing insults could normally be heard, and thus ignored, by everyone all throughout class. It was not uncommon for this to escalate into a full out row, ending with a borderline gleeful Snape swiftly taking points from Gryffindor House. But today, more than halfway through the period, Harry nor Malfoy had traded even a single word.

Hermione now appreciated her seat because if she were not in this exact spot, she would not have been able to—now that she had cause to—note just how often Malfoy _looked_ at Harry. The Slytherin seemed to stare at Harry so often that some part of Hermione began to wonder how he had good marks in Potions at all. And Malfoy did not look at Harry at all the way one would assume. No, he _gazed_ at him. One would have to be truly oblivious to miss the longing in those grey eyes. Or, one had to be Harry Potter. Since every time Harry would happen to feel that gaze and look up, Malfoy's face would morph into a sneer so seamlessly that Hermione would be forced to wonder if she'd imagined everything until the exact moment Harry looked away again and the lovelorn gaze would return.

Near periods end, Hermione wanted to strangle Malfoy more than ever. Or Harry, or Ron, or everyone in the entirety of Hogwarts—including, perhaps, herself—because no one had bloody _noticed_. It was impossible, ridiculous, absolutely mad that everyone had managed to ignore something so blatantly obvious.

"'Mione," Ron whispered, interrupting her thoughts. "Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yes I'm fine Ronald."

Ron looked uncomfortable now. "Uh, but... there's only a few minutes of class left..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, and?"

Ron's cheeks were turning red. "It's just that, uh, you haven't erm... your potion."

At that, Hermione glanced down. To her horror, she realised that she had been too distracted to stir properly. Worse, there wasn't time to even attempt fixing it. Not minutes later, she had no choice but to accept an embarrassingly low grade. Determined not to allow it to be a waste, she decided right then what she would do. She had to speak to Draco Malfoy—alone.

 `&`

Hermione didn't get the chance until the following Wednesday. Malfoy always seemed to be accompanied by someone or another, and he would avoid Harry—and Hermione and Ron by consequence—at seemingly any cost. Ron often said he was glad the git was minding his own business for once, and Harry would absently agree. More than once, however, Hermione would look up during meals to find Harry staring intently in Malfoy's direction, as if he were willing the Slytherin to look at him. Little did Harry know that Malfoy did look, only just as soon as Harry would give up and look away. Malfoy never noticed that Hermione noted this each and every time. That was, until Wednesday evening.

Harry and Ron were having a discussion with Neville about something, and Malfoy took his eyes off of Harry for a moment, long enough to notice that Hermione's eyes were on him. Her eyes met those of steel grey and she took the opportunity to attempt an encouraging smile. It had the opposite effect, and she watched as Malfoy’s eyes widened just slightly, seeming to say _caught._

Then Malfoy stood up, abandoning his half eaten meal and left the Great Hall without so much as a goodbye to his friends. Neither of them appeared concerned, likely used to melodrama. It was now or never, Hermione decided and darted quickly out after him. She heard Ron say something, but ignored it. Who knew when she would have another chance to speak to Malfoy privately.

The blond was rounding the corner by the time she caught sight of him, and Hermione broke into a run. She caught up with Malfoy half way to the dungeons. Out of breath and irritated, she grabbed his arm and yanked, effectively halting him in place. He rounded on her, knowing full well who'd been following him, that hateful sneer he'd obviously perfected on his face.

"Granger," he spit, pulling his arm from her grip. "Something you want?"

"We need to talk," Hermione said calmly.

Malfoy scoffed. "Why should I waste my time talking to a—"

"Save it, Malfoy," interrupted Hermione. "I know you don't really believe any of that rubbish about blood."

It had been a rather hopeful educated guess, but Malfoy's lips parted in surprise, his mask seeming to falter for a moment, which was confirmation enough for Hermione. A blink too late, and it was back in place. "You're mistaken, Granger. I—"

"—think muggles would burn us to death given half the chance, and so should stay to their own place,” she finished, more confident in her assumptions now. “But anyone who's paid attention to you at all knows you aren't your father, Malfoy."

"Don't talk about my father you—"

"Not a problem. I'm here to talk about Harry."

The Slytherin blinked. "What? What about Potter?"

"He told us you asked him to Yule Ball, you know," Hermione said conversationally.

Malfoy stiffened. "Yes, well. That was—part of something that didn't work out. I was only—"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's what Harry thought. But I don't buy it, especially not now."

"Would you stop interrupting m–what do you mean _not now?"_

"I mean, not now that I've seen the way you look at him."

The blond bared his teeth at her. "I have no idea what you're on about, Granger. I am—"

"In love with him," Hermione finished.

"I said to stop interrupting me you little—" Malfoy cut himself once her words registered, and gaped at Hermione as though she'd sprouted an extra head. His mouth opened and closed again, but he seemed at a loss. So Hermione plowed on.

"Or maybe that's a bit much. But I know that you like him. You're not nearly as subtle as you think you are."

Malfoy finally seemed to have recovered some, because he leaned down close and hissed at her quietly. "I am not _in love_ with Harry Potter. You must be touched in the head, Granger. I hate that four eyed—"

"Do save your breath," she replied tiredly.

Malfoy twisted from her and punched the wall so hard Hermione heard his knuckle crack, but he made no cry of pain. Hermione swallowed her surprise. She'd never imagined Draco Malfoy the type to express anger physically, though she didn't now know why she'd thought that. Slytherins had just always seemed so... collected.

"Do you ever get tired of your own voice?" Malfoy demanded once he had faced her again. "Could I possibly get through a single sentence, Granger?"

Hermione eyed his hand, split and looking quite painful. The Slytherin didn't even appear to notice. "Sure, as long as it isn't a lie. Anyway I came to tell you: I think you should try again."

"What?"

"Ask Harry again. Only this time don't be so... _you_ about it."

"You really are mental," said the blond, but Hermione could tell he had deflated.  "Have you ever met Potter? I must have been mad to ask the first time."

And suddenly Hermione could no longer retain the calm she'd painstakingly clung to since Monday. "You are both insufferable!" she screeched, and Malfoy flinched in surprise. "Only look at each other when the other looks away—how the bloody hell do you even _do_ that by the way. Yes I've met Harry! But any random bloke on the street would bet every last coin in Gringotts that yours was his favourite name given five sodding minutes with him! I have never felt so dim in my _life_ as I did—Merlin I almost wish I could go back to being clueless! I can't handle this—I can't handle _either_ of you!"

And then, cheeks reddened, she turned heel and stormed away.

`&`

As it happened, Draco did not ask again. Nothing Granger had said was plausible. Especially after Draco overheard Padma Patil complaining about being roped into taking the weasel, since her sister was going with Potter. Draco's stomach twisted with jealousy, and his wits temporarily abandoned him. Which was how, Christmas Day, he showed up to the Ball with Millicent Bullstrode on his arm. She didn't stay there for long, however, as Draco could hardly stand the girl. She seemed happy enough to go off on her own, and Draco was far more concerned with the punch—thankfully some upper-year had managed to spike it with Firewhiskey—than keeping track of her.

His father had made certain Draco could hold his liquor quite young for social reasons, but he was a ways past pleasantly buzzed by the time he realized Potter and Weasley were sitting at their table, clearly sulking, the Patil twins nowhere to be seen. The weasel was glowering in Granger's direction, though she seemed entirely too delighted being in the arms of Viktor Krum to notice—and wasn't that unexpected. Who knew Granger had taste?

But, since Draco was even less in control of himself than usual, his eyes drifted back to Potter. He nearly jumped when he found those enchanting green eyes already trained on him. They flickered away just then, though, and Draco was reminded of Granger's words in the hallway that day. _Only look at each other when the other looks away..._

And for once Draco could see no reason he shouldn't do what he wanted to do. He had crossed the room practically before he'd even decided.

Potter looked up at him in surprise. "Malfoy?"

"I think," began Draco, "that since you so rudely rejected me the other day—"

"Rejected y–!"

"—the least you could do is dance with me."

"I—what?"

Vaguely, Draco knew Weasley was gaping at him, but he found he couldn't care less. The indecision in Potter's eyes was enough to make it worth it.

But Potter said "How much have you had to drink, Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. That hardly mattered. "A fair bit," he admitted. "Will you dance with me or not?"

Other people were looking over at them now, and Draco cared so little that he himself began to wonder if perhaps he had overdone it a smidge.

"If you regret this in the morning," said Potter at last, "it's not on me."

And then he took Draco's hand. The Slytherin swallowed his gasp of shock. He'd asked, but he may as well have been pissed to of done so. Potter was completely sober, had likely been so all his years. Afraid Potter would change his mind and sit back down, he quickly dragged him onto the floor.

 

Harry was in a state of shock as Malfoy placed his hands about Harry's waist. It was all Harry could do to let Malfoy lead, since he'd never been completely successful at dancing. He'd been absolutely atrocious with Parvati just an hour ago, he knew, but now he was dancing with Draco Malfoy. It was probably only due to Malfoy's skill that Harry hadn't yet fallen, and they were hardly moving as it was.

But this was _Draco Malfoy._ Some part of his brain was reminding him he should probably be very suspicious about now, but he—strangely—wasn't, and that seemed alarming in itself.

"Why are you doing this?" Malfoy asked quietly, breaking the silence between them.

Harry blinked. "I should be asking you that, I think."

Malfoy smiled, and Harry almost tripped. It was a real smile, small but open. Not anything like the sneers and smirks he was used to when it came to Malfoy. And had Malfoy always looked at him like that? Harry hadn't had a single sip of the punch, but he considered that he might be imagining things regardless.

"Ah, but I’m half sloshed, you aren’t. And you hate me."

Harry shook his head slowly, attempting to clear it. "You—but you hate me too," he pointed out.

"That's where you're wrong Potter, I never hated you."

"Last year your entire lot dressed up like dementors to freak me out during a Quidditch match!"

Draco tossed his head back and laughed then, it was a full and rather mesmerising sound that Harry immediately wanted to hear again. The thought made him feel so ridiculous he nearly blushed.

"Yeah I did," Malfoy said when he finished. "And then you sent a—" he broke off to laugh again. "—patronus at us. Greg nearly wet himself. If I'd had the nerve, I would have thanked you just for that."

"You really are pissed," Harry breathed, but then he recovered himself. "My Hippogriff—"

"I regret that," Draco said quickly. "I regret a lot of things. I'm all but sure you don't believe it though. Still, being awful to you and your lot just made it easier."

"Made what easier?"

"Being around you," Malfoy said simply. Harry made a note that Draco Malfoy was honest when he had a few drinks in him.

Harry allowed Malfoy to lead him silently for a few minutes before he decided to try speaking again. "So you really erm..."

"Fancy you?" Malfoy supplied.

Harry bit his lip.

"Don't do that," snapped Malfoy.

Harry met his eyes again in surprise, and there was that look again. Harry was starting to think he knew what it was, but this was _Malfoy_ of all people, surely he wasn’t perceiving anything the way it was truly meant.

"Don't do what?"

"Bite your lip like that. Do you know how often you bite or lick your lips in classes? Because trust me Potter, I do."

Harry was hardly even moving anymore, he couldn't break Malfoy's stare.

"You know, I hate how everyone talks about your eyes. Like they belong to your mum or something. They're your eyes. They're stunning because of you, not because of her. I'd never get tired of looking at them. Does that answer your question?"

Harry nodded mutely, his heart was beating almost uncomfortably fast now. His mind was struggling to keep up with everything Malfoy had just told him.

"I don't think I ever would have known..." Harry said, cursing his voice for coming out a near whisper and wondering where his supposed Gryffindor courage had gone.

Malfoy's lips pulled up a bit again. "You weren't supposed to."

"So why tell me now?" Harry asked, feeling as though something we're stuck in his throat.

"Right now?"

"No no—when you erm... asked me here."

"Right yes, how could I forget the millionth time you rejected me," said Malfoy.

"I didn't think you really—"

"I know, Potter. It's fine. I guess because Pansy and Blaise didn't believe I'd do it. I think I just wanted to prove to them that I wasn't a coward. It backfired, obviously."

"I—"

"Everyone's looking at us, you know," Malfoy told him. "Even the professors."

Harry grimaced, and Malfoy grinned at him. Harry hoped that smile wouldn't always flip his stomach like it did.

"Even Snape?"

"Practically livid. Oh he's giving me quite the spectacular death glare now, you should see it." Harry thought Malfoy sounded entirely too delighted about this to be sane.

Harry shuddered at what he knew Snape must look like, and Malfoy seemed to automatically pull him closer in response. Harry stiffened on reflex, they'd never been quite this close. Malfoy's body was suddenly everywhere—he didn't know how to describe it. He didn't think he could.

Malfoy felt the change, though, and pulled back again before Harry could say anything.

"Sorry," he said. But Harry was already resealing the distance between them. He'd wanted to stay there just now, and his body had moved almost of its own accord.

Malfoy made a pleased sound that seemed involuntary and Harry nearly shivered. He discovered that Malfoy smelled like peppermint and vanilla and ice—if ice were to have a smell. It was a strange combination that Harry would never have thought pleasant before then. As it was, he was currently resisting the ridiculous urge to nuzzle Malfoy's neck and breathe in deeply.

"What're you doing?" Malfoy inquired quietly, and Harry noticed that he'd gotten even closer.

Harry pulled back a bit to see the Slytherin's face again. He was so _close_ , Harry thought. And then the blond licked his lips, and Harry understood completely what he'd been saying moments earlier.

"Malfoy," said Harry. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, and he noticed that Malfoy straightened a bit.

"Yes?"

"How pissed are you, exactly?" Harry asked slowly.

"Why?"

"Because," he began, "I think I may want to kiss you, and I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and hex m–"

Malfoy cut him off with his lips. Somewhere far far away, Harry heard someone—or perhaps several someones—gasping. But it was the last thing he cared about. At the moment, there was no one else in the entire world that mattered but Draco.

 

There were no words for this, Draco decided. He had actually kissed Harry Potter; he must have been certifiable to do so but he had. In public, no less. And Harry was kissing him back. Had Harry kissed anyone before? Draco knew it was ridiculous—not to mention selfish—of him to hope the answer was no, but he did anyway.

Harry kissed the way he did everything else: by throwing his whole self into it recklessly and completely. He didn’t know who had deepened the kiss first, but Draco's entire self had immediately narrowed down to the taste of Harry's tongue where it slid lightly against his own. He was lost, he was floating on a—he was being yanked away.

The incredible green of Harry's eyes had retreated some, the pupils widened and giving the impression they were darker than they were naturally. They were also—Draco noted with satisfaction—slightly clouded over, much like he imagined his own were. But that would have to be addressed later, because at the moment they had Snape to contend with. The Potions master was looking down at them with pure disgust—and something else Draco didn’t have time to think about—his lip curled back and his eyes slitted. For once, Draco was a bit unnerved by him.

"What," he stressed, "is the meaning of this?"

Harry swallowed.

"The meaning of what Professor?" Draco asked sweetly, his rebellious side returning in response to his godfather’s tone.

Snape sneered at him, and Draco was filled with sudden regret for every time he'd ever sneered at someone himself.

"Making a spectacle of yourselves with your horrid display—"

"Are students not allowed to snog their dates? I must've missed wherever that rule was written," said Draco.

Snape's jaw tightened at this. "Is Mr. Malfoy, in fact, your date Mr. Potter?" he demanded of Harry.

Green eyes met his own and hardened with determination. "Yes he is, Professor."

Draco tried not to show how delighted he was at the statement. This was all beginning to feel like it couldn't possibly be real. But it was. Draco would never dream of Ron Weasley in any capacity. And there Weasley stood, not ten feet away and gaping at Harry as though he'd never seen him before. It made Draco want to snarl at him even more than usual.

"Very well," Snape said at last through his teeth. He seemed to put great effort into turning from them and walking away.

Harry looked around then, flinching a bit when he saw Weasley but otherwise meeting each and every set of eyes on them with daring defiance befitting of the Potter he'd always known. But then, unlike that Potter, he held out his hand to Draco and said "Want to get some air?"

Draco didn't hesitate to take the offered hand, revisiting another instance of an offered hand in his mind's eye, and they left the nearly silent Great Hall behind them. Draco tried his best to ignore the smug look on Granger's face as they passed her.

 

Harry tried, he really did, but he didn't even make it five feet away once the doors closed before he had felt it essential to pin Draco against the wall and kiss him again. There was nothing so good as snogging Draco Malfoy, Harry had recently concluded, and he'd never been the patient sort. There was nothing he wanted to do more in that moment. It was as if he'd been waiting longer than he knew to feel the Slytherin's lips against Harry's own. And the way Draco’s teeth gently pulled on his lower lip, Merlin forbid he would never get used to that.

`&`

"Honestly Ronald," Hermione chided, "do close your mouth."

Ron whirled on her. "Did you _see_ that?!" he demanded in a furious whisper.

"You mean Pansy Parkinson and Luna Lovegood?" Hermione asked cheekily.

"No! I—wait. Huh?" Ron turned and scanned the area around them. Most had returned to their fun after Harry and Malfoy had left, but then there they were. A young blonde was twirling in the arms of the female Slytherin in a way that was decidedly non-platonic. As he watched, the blonde suddenly went up on her tiptoes and planted a brief kiss on the Slytherin girl’s lips, afterwhich they both blushed. Ron, once again, was gobsmacked.

"I don't understand anything," he whimpered.

Hermione patted him on the shoulder, exasperated. "Clearly."

He turned to her again after a moment, finally looking away from the giggling girls. "You knew about Harry and Malfoy," he accused.

She looked entirely unashamed. "Yes I did."

"Why didn't you tell me?! We could have knocked some sense into him!"

Hermione rolled her eyes then. "No Ron. Harry knows what he's doing, perhaps for the first time in his life. Once I figured it out, everything fell into place. You can't honestly tell me you don't see it."

Ron only shuddered, and then left. Leaving the Hall, however, proved to be a mistake of epic proportions. Harry and Malfoy hadn't made it very far at all. Worse, they didn't appear to notice him. It looked as if Malfoy was trying to leave the world's most noticeable hickey on Harry’s neck. Harry, who’s head was tossed backwards, was staring at the ceiling as though he could see the stars beyond it. Ron could only watch in horrified fascination until finally, finally he remembered how to move, and left to sit and possibly obliviate himself in the common room.

`&`

Lucius Malfoy arrived at Hogwarts the very next morning.

Draco had woken up to discover himself on the floor of the potions classroom, one Harry Potter asleep with his head on Draco's stomach.

Draco was mildly hungover, but the memories of the Ball were still clear in his mind. He'd asked for a dance, and he'd gotten that and more. He remembered every kiss vividly, and he could recall the way they'd sat, Harry resting against his shoulder as they talked for hours afterwards...

Draco knew he'd love to spend today in much the same fashion. But gods, he'd snogged Harry Potter in front of most of Hogwarts—there was no way the entire Wizarding World wouldn't know by now. Spies for the bloody _Prophet_ were everywhere—he should know, seeing as he'd been one—and Harry had been front page worthy many times before. Now that everyone knew he and Draco were bent? Yes, everyone knew. Absolutely everyone. And Draco wasn't the least bit bothered by it. Or he wouldn't have been, if everyone didn't very much include his parents.

"Harry," Draco had said, sitting up and nudging the other boy.

Harry grunted a bit, but then his eyes flew open and he bolted upright almost cartoonishly. "What's happening?" They locked eyes then, and just as Draco thought Harry was going to stand up and run off, he said "You stayed."

Draco's blinked. "Did you think I'd leave you here?"

"I didn't really know how much you had to drink," Harry explained, shrugging. "I couldn't be totally sure..."

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled the green eyed boy toward him again. He lightly brushed his lips over the Gryffindor's, more a ghost of a kiss than anything. "You can be sure," he whispered. "Especially these next few days, promise me you'll be sure."

Harry had promised, and no sooner than they both arrived at breakfast—late—was it to be put to the test.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, interrupting Draco's meal and therefore his staring-at-Harry time.

"Yes?"

"Your father wishes to speak with you in regards to the article," Snape told him.

"My father's here already?"

Snape handed Draco the rolled up paper in his hand. Draco's eyes flicked back to Harry just in time to see Granger hand him the same paper and his face darken. Draco took the paper, knowing what it would say but needing to read it anyway.

 

_'BOY WHO LIVED A SHIRT-LIFTER? Read the shocking details of his illicit affair with the Heir to the Malfoy fortune!!'_

 

Draco closed his eyes for a moment before looking back up at Snape. "How long has he been here?"

"Three hours before breakfast. I suspect someone at the _Prophet_ tipped him off."

Draco nodded. Yes, his father most certainly had ties to the _Daily Prophet_. Which he had known. He stood, ignoring the looks his Housemates gave him along with those of the entire Great Hall. The only person who's eyes he met was Harry. There was a question there, of course, but he couldn't answer it just now. Merlin only knew what was about to happen.

`&`

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, and Harry pulled his eyes away from Draco's retreating back in order to look at her.

"Are you okay?"

Harry shrugged. He was more worried about where Snape was leading Draco than about what the bloody _Prophet_ had written about them. Though, perhaps it was true he should read the whole article first before he assessed his emotions. He picked up the paper without answering.

 

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to Seek Attention, has shocked the Wizarding World once again. As our loyal Prophet readers surely remember, this past fall began with Potter illegally joining the previous line up of three contestants for the Triwizard Tournament, as the fourth. Prophet readers have been kept up to date with everything Harry Potter since then, including an earlier article mentioning his apparent romantic relationship with a muggleborn girl by the name of Hermione Granger. Now, though, it seems Granger is—for lack of a better term—yesterday's news for Potter. (Not that Granger seems to mind, apparently having already replaced Potter with yet another rich, well-standing contestant: our beloved Viktor Krum. For more on this see page 7.) But, even so, Harry Potter's many female admirers have nothing whatsoever to celebrate. After making his debut at the Yule Ball, strangely with the lovely miss Pavarti Patil on his arm, Harry made his way to find his true date: none other than Draco Malfoy._

_The two boys were seen dancing and later even passionately kissing, with no concern for those other guests who looked on. Harry and the young Malfoy were reportedly also seen leaving together, presumably to explore their many queer curiosities._

_The Malfoy fortune has been passed through several generations of respectable purebloods, but what will the family do now that there may be no chance for another heir at all! Or is this simply a ploy to get the Boy Hero to dish out his own fortune? It doesn't seem so, given the ages of both involved, but one can never be too sure._

_Regardless, Harry Potter clearly has his sights—along with his mouth—set on the young Malfoy. Let's hope that the Malfoy family will again dare show their face to the public eye long enough to give us a bigger scoop on the young pillowbiters._

 

Harry put the paper down and sighed, pocketing the rest of his mail to put off reading any more negativity and resting his head in his hands for a second before looking back up at his friends. Ron hadn't spoken to him since before the Ball, and Harry doubted he'd start now. Hermione, though, was eyeing him with deep concern.

"I'm fine Hermione," he assured her. "I should be used to this by now, after all. But Draco..."

Harry ignored the way Ron's shoulders stiffened when Harry said Draco's given name, just as he had been ignoring him all through breakfast. Hermione placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It'll be alright," she said.

Harry looked toward Draco's empty place at the Slytherin table, and then over towards Snape's, and he wasn't so sure.

`&`

"—disgrace to the name of Malfoy!" Lucius was hollering at his son.

Severus looked on silently, preparing for the fallout if he were to have to step in on the boy's behalf. If Lucius raised his hand or his wand, Severus would have no choice.

"Do you think this is some kind of joke?! Did you think you were free to _experiment_ however you wanted?!" the man demanded.

Draco stood silently, not so much as flinching. Severus suspected he might not be listening at all. He also strongly doubted Draco had need to experiment. Despite his anger the previous night, Severus had not been the least bit surprised when Draco's homosexuality was confirmed. It was only that Draco's affections belonged to Potter of all people that turned Severus's stomach. Though even that perhaps should not of been a surprise. Lucius, though, had yet to even address Potter's involvement.

"You are foul," the man was saying. "I can't even bear to look at you!"

"Lucius," Severus said.

Draco's eyes snapped towards him, and Severus felt a surge of protectiveness go through him.

"What," spit the other man.

"I do believe that's _quite_ enough," said Severus.

Lucius's eyebrows rose. "You can't honestly tell me you support this–this... _shameful–"_

"It's not my support that Draco needs. But I do, my dislike of the Potter boy aside."

"The fact that it is Potter only makes it worse! That boy ruined everything before he'd even learned to talk! And now the entirety of the Wizarding World knows that he's had his _hands_ all over my _son_."

"Not yet," said Draco. The comment was so quiet that, thankfully, Lucius had not heard it.

"Regardless," said Severus. "Draco is old enough to make his own decisions and live with the consequences."

"He is fourteen years old!"

"Are you not still living with choices _you_ made at fourteen, Lucius?" Severus asked, venom nearly dripping off his voice in defence of the young boy.

Lucius opened and closed his mouth several times before he spoke again. "My son is _not_ a pillowbiter," he said through clenched teeth.

"Not technically," Draco said with a smirk. "I am bent though."

"You will shut your repulsive little MOUTH!" Lucius shouted.

Draco's eyes flashed. "Make me," he hissed.

Lucius's wand raised a fraction, and then Severus was between the two Malfoys.

"Get out of my way, Severus. My son clearly needs to be taught a lesson."

"The only one of us who will be _teaching_ your son anything, Lucius, is myself. You, on the other hand, will exit the grounds of Hogwarts immediately. And you will not speak to Draco in person unless either myself or the Headmaster is present."

"You are meddling where you have no place, Severus," warned the other man.

He was right, but Severus still spoke. "Now, if you please."

With a last scathing look, Lucius Malfoy left.

`&`

"Draco love," said Pansy through his door.

"Go away," Draco replied.

"Potter wants to talk to you."

At that, Draco sat up on his bed. Harry was here? As in, _inside_ the Slytherin dungeons? "He does?"

"Of course I do, you nitwit," came Harry's voice.

Draco nearly fell out of the bed. "Come in then," he croaked.

"Nice pyjamas," Harry said a moment later, standing at the foot of Draco's bed.

"I didn't expect visitors."

"As I recall, you're the one who made _me_ promise to be sure," said Harry.

Draco swallowed. "And are you?"

"I wasn’t the one skipping classes to hide out in my dorm room all day."

"Did you read the article?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. "Did you expect anything less?"

"No," Draco admitted. "Not from the _Prophet_ at least. But my father was..."

Harry's eyes widened. "Your father was here?"

"You didn't know? Snape took me to see him this morning."

"How was I supposed to know if you didn't tell me?" Harry moved then, coming around and sitting down next to Draco. "What did he say?"

Draco thought that Harry Potter being on his bed should be far more exciting than this. But the topic of conversation was ruining it.

"Oh, you know. I'm disgusting, a stain on the family name, so on and so forth."

"Draco..."

Draco closed his eyes. "I forgot to tell you last night how much I love it when you say my given name." When he opened his eyes again, Harry was blushing.

"Hush. We were talking about your dad."

Draco scowled. "How could I forget?"

Those green eyes rolled, but immediately softened. "I'm sorry, about what he said I mean. It isn't true, you know."

Draco nodded. "Father's always been a bit of a prick,” _Just not usually to me_ , he thought silently. “I think my mum'll be fine with it."

"Fine with you, or fine with us?" Harry wondered.

"Us?" Draco asked carefully.

"Like erm–together? We're together, yeah?"

Draco answered that by kissing him. "Yeah," he breathed when he pulled away. Harry shivered, and then they were kissing again.

Draco's back hit his mattress, and Harry crawled on top of him. Had they only kissed for the first time just the day before? It seemed impossible, and Draco doubted he’d ever tire of it.

`&`

Ron finally exploded that night. Harry came back to the common room, having been gone for the past four or so hours—Draco was really a fantastic kisser, and he'd simply lost track of time—looking visibly disheveled. Hermione looked up from the book she'd been reading and gave a sly smile when she'd caught sight of him. But Ron, who had been playing exploding snap with Neville, gaped at him.

"Bloody hell," he said. "I'd ask where you were, but even I'm not that daft."

Neville just sat there, shooting Harry an apologetic glance.

"Ronald," Hermione began, in a tone that suggested she'd already given this particular lecture.

"It's alright Hermione," Harry interrupted. "Ron obviously has a few things he wants to say to me. Might as well say them now."

Ron stood up then, walking over to get in Harry's face. "How long?" he demanded.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "How long what?"

"How long have you been a bloody poof?"

"Ron!" Hermione squeaked, but Harry waved her off.

"All my life I suspect, but you'll have to forgive me for not figuring it out sooner, seeing as I'm fourteen and all," said Harry.

Ron scowled. "S'pose Malfoy just cleared it all up for you then."

Hermione must have seen the way Harry's eyes flashed, because suddenly she was up and standing between them. Harry wasn't sure who she was trying to shield.

" _Draco_ ," Harry stressed, "likes me. Says he always has. And I like him back. Is there some specific reason that's such a problem for you? Or were planning to have a tantrum and ditch me _every_ time I do something you don't like?"

Neville was doing his best to vanish. The rest of Gryffindor tower was being as quiet as possible, trying to pretend they all weren't hiding in corners or listening just outside their dorms, but Harry could hear the collective breathing in the too-hushed silence.

"Don't try to compare any of that other shite to this. This is about _Draco bloody Malfoy_. The git that tries to ruin our lives on a daily basis! Who called 'Mione a mudblood every chance he got! Who passed out badges telling everyone that—"

"I'm aware of everything he did Ron. But you've yet to list a single thing he ever did to _you_. Hermione's got the most reason to be offended, but she supported me before _I_ even knew what was going on. And I can choose to forgive whoever I bloody well want."

"He's a Malfoy!" Ron shouted. "How can you even—I thought we were friends."

"...Are you actually trying to tell me that it's you or him?" Harry asked, incredulously.

Ron remained silent for several tense seconds before he, slowly, nodded.

"Fine," Harry said hesitantly, wondering how many times he would lose his best mate before it was permanent. And if this might just be it. "I choose him then."

There were several gasps at this, and he knew that everyone in Gryffindor knew or would know by morning what had just happened. He sulked towards his dorm room, meeting several wide eyes in the hall on his way, and tossed himself down on the bed, wishing for an entirely different bed down beneath the castle.

`&`

The continuous sense of déjà vu nearly had Hermione dizzy for days afterward. It was as if Harry's name had come out of Goblet all over again, only completely different. Ron behaved the same, meaning of course that he pretended as though Harry no longer existed, as did the majority of the school, meaning distrustful or offended glances and mumbled insults. Everything was just the same, with the only exception being the near entirety of Slytherin House. Instead of ridiculous badges and hissed insults, the Slytherins now guarded Harry and Malfoy as though they were some sort of royalty.

It was a common thing to refer to Draco Malfoy as the Prince of Slytherin, but Hermione had not quite guessed at how literal this could be taken until she'd found herself sat next to Harry in the Slytherin common room yet again. Harry was now surrounded by Slytherins at any given time, so, when night would fall and they naturally congregated towards their common room, Harry tended to follow, leaving Hermione to decide whether or not she would go along too. For the third night in a row, she had.

Harry was lounging on the couch, watching Malfoy as he spoke to Parkinson. Hermione was doing some writing for SPEW in hopes of owling it to the _Prophet_ , or trying to, but she still could not quite relax here as Harry seemed able to.

"—know what she told me? Said she can't tell the difference, people treat her just the same. I'm just one more example of how mad she is, according to them all. Simply because she believes a few strange things, honestly."

Hermione personally hadn’t known much of Luna Lovegood before Parkinson had introduced them all, but all signs thus far said she was a lovely friend to have.  

"I owe her quite a few apologies," Malfoy said quietly. "Owe you a couple too Panse."

"Please, it's fine Draco. The whole school's thought Luna mad since she stepped foot in the castle, you weren't the only one. Not like with Potter."

"Wish you'd call me by my name, I am sitting right here you know," Harry cut in.

"Sorry Harry," Parkinson said. "Not used to it."

Harry smiled. "It's alright, given the number of times I've nearly said Malfoy."

"You've no idea," Malfoy sighed.

"Something wrong, Granger?" Zabini asked suddenly. "You've been quiet. Assignments _can_ occasionally take a break you know."

"It’s not a part of classes, it’s for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," Hermione stated proudly. She was unsure of how a common room of Slytherins would react to her stance on the treatment of house elves, but she would stand strongly regardless.

"You’re pretty passionate about house elf stuff then?” Zabini replied with what sounded like genuine interest. “My mum’s never home much, so elves are sort of a part of the family. For me, anyway. I know not many wizards feel the same. But anyway, I say you take a break and we all play a game."

Hermione raised her eyebrow, and didn’t attempt to hide pleasant surprise in knowing she had a potential companion in her campaign. However, it would be a topic for a later date as she responded to his last statement.

"Such as?"

"Hm, you and Po–Harry are Gryffindors yeah? Fancy some truth or dare?"

Harry and Hermione groaned in unison. "Not sure that's the best idea," said Harry.

"Nonsense," Parkinson said. "Come on, everyone in a circle."

After a few sighs and halfhearted protests, the five of them were all sat down on the floor, crossed legged.

“Who starts?" Zabini asked.

Parkinson began immediately. "Let's start off with Granger–erm, Hermione?"

"Um sure. Pansy?"

A nod, and the uncomfortable moment passed, a silent decision having been put to rest. "Right then. Truth or Dare?"

Hermione shrugged. "Dare I suppose."

Pansy looked slightly put out at this. "Oh fine," she said. "I dare you to... hmm. Go fetch my dearest."

"Oi!" Hermione protested. "It's truth or dare. You can't send me away on errand."

Pansy smiled. "Do you forfeit, then?"

With a huff, Hermione rose. "Certainly not," she replied, and stomped off in search of Luna.

Luna was not alone when Hermione found her. The blonde was in the greenhouse with Neville; they’d made fast-friends, he being one of the only non-Slytherin in all of Hogwarts besides Hermione who showed her—and Harry as well—open support.

"I've been sent to take you to Slytherin," Hermione told the young Ravenclaw on sight.

Luna smiled. "I suppose I can ignore curfew.”

Neville nodded. "Can I come too?"

"Er, if you fancy truth or dare."

Luna looked intrigued, Neville slightly more apprehensive. "Alright I suppose," he said slowly.

Which was how Hermione returned to the Slytherin dungeons with Luna and Neville both in tow.

"Were you going for extra points Gr–Hermione?" Blaise inquired, smirking.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she sat, Luna planting herself right between Pansy and Harry and Neville taking a hesitant seat in the middle of Hermione and Draco.

"I believe it's my turn to ask," said Hermione after the two additions were added.

Blaise made a lazy gesture for her to continue.

"Harry," she said, earning an eyebrow raise from each Slytherin.

"Truth, I guess."

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"I already told you a million times—"

"I'm only asking so this lot isn't tempted to," she told him.

Harry looked sheepish at that. "Oh. Well in that case: no. I really, truly didn't and I don't know who did."

"Your turn then," she said, secretly gleeful she'd gotten through her turn with minimal tension.

Harry looked around, and chose the safe option. "Neville."

The other Gryffindor boy said, "Truth."

"Erm. If there was absolutely no consequences, what's the first thing you'd say to Snape?"

The Potion master’s status as Draco’s godfather didn’t mean that Harry had to like him, apparently. Not that the blond would expect him to.

"I'd tell him he should be nicer to students,” Neville answered immediately. “Er, I reckon he might not be as Snape-like then, but terrifying first years isn't exactly the best skill for a professor. I wouldn't say it to be rude or anything, just to try and help him understand where some others are coming from."

Everyone was staring, and Neville suddenly blushed and ducked his head.

"Wow, Nev," Harry said. "You've a heart of gold. I think just about everyone else would have a few choice words."

Pansy laughed. "Alright then. Go on Neville, choose someone."

"Er... Zabini–erm, I mean should I call you Blaise?"

"Dare," said Blaise, after he nodded. "Change things up a bit."

"Right, uh. I dare you to... go stand at the top of the Astronomy tower and sing the Hogwarts song as loud as you can."

Blaise laughed aloud while, for a long moment, no one else did anything but stare at Neville.

“It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for,” Blaise finally said, sounding delighted as he stood up. “Well? Who’s coming with to keep me honest?”  

“I guess it has to be me,” Neville admitted when there were no takers, already clearly regretting what he’d told the taller boy to do.

Hermione watched the boys leave and prayed for all their sakes that Filch wasn’t anywhere near the Astronomy tower at the moment.

`&`

Neville watched Blaise in amazement as he silently, anxiously, counted the seconds. The Slytherin boy was _loud_. He didn’t even look nervous, Neville even thought he looked like he was having a grand time.

 

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot._

 

Blaise turned to look at him when he’d finished, a brilliant smile on his face. Maybe he really did get a rush from this stuff, Neville thought. The dark skinned boy was clearly missing a few screws, so why was Neville smiling back? He shook his head to clear it. “Come on, let’s get out of here before we get caught.”

Blaise laughed but followed after him anyway.

`&`

Neville and Blaise burst into the room, supporting each other and laughing maniacally between heavy breaths. Hermione couldn’t recall when Nev had ever looked quite as carefree.

“No trouble then?” Luna inquired with a soft smile.

“Oh no, tons,” Blaise laughed. “Mrs. Norris spotted us on the way back.”

“Barely got away,” Neville agreed breathlessly. “But Merlin, you lot should have seen Blaise. The _entire_ song!”

“It was brilliant and you loved it,” Blaise pointed out.

Neville laughed again but didn’t deny the charge as they both took their seats.

"Draco," said Blaise once he’d collected himself.

Draco looked at his friend for a long moment before finally choosing "Truth."

Blaise laughed outright. "Less fun. Alright, hm, what colour are Harry's briefs?"

Harry made a strangled noise at this, and the tips of Draco's ears turned pink. "I wouldn't know," he said, remaining ever dignified and stoically not looking at his boyfriend.

"How about telling us what colour you _wish_ they were?"

Draco's cheeks were pinking up, despite his clear efforts to look unbothered. "It wouldn't matter, obviously I'd be glad enough just to see them."  

Hermione herself was doing her best not to laugh, Pansy and Luna seemed to be doing the same. Harry was biting his lip, looking rather flushed. Grey eyes finally met green, and the air seemed to electrify between them. Draco swallowed and looked away.

"Pansy."

The Slytherin girl smiled. "Truth."

"When did you know you were bent?"

Luna's head snapped toward the Slytherin girl in an almost comical manner. Hermione swallowed another cackle.

"If you must know," she began, "I was ten. We lived across from this other family’s flat, and I told my mum I wanted to give their daughter a kiss on the lips. My mum said _'_ _You kiss whoever you please, Pansy, so long as they'd like you to._ _'_ I've been chasing skirts ever since."

Everyone appeared satisfied with this, but Draco's face fell when Pansy chose him again.

"Dare," the blond decided immediately.

Pansy giggled. “Fine. I dare you to dye your hair bright apple green for a week.”

Draco reached up to touch his beloved hair, staring at one of his best mates in horror. “You can’t be serious.”

“You could pick truth instead,” she told him sweetly, her smile revealing nearly every tooth. Not for the first time, Hermione felt a bit wary of the dark haired girl. She thought perhaps Luna was intended to be the innocence to her lawlessness.

Draco's face had darkened, but he finally nodded.

"When did you fall for Harry Potter?"

"You already know that, Panse," Draco bit out.

"Ah," the girl appeared delighted, "but Harry doesn't."

Draco sigh and then mumbled something.

"I'm sorry what was that?" Pansy asked innocently.

"Madam Malkins," Draco said, glaring at her.

Hermione was confused, and she wasn't alone.

"The robe shop? That's a place, not a time," said Blaise.

But Harry appeared gobsmacked. "Really?" he breathed.

Draco nodded.

"But. But you didn't even tell me your name. We didn't even... We were eleven. How..."

Draco bit his lip. "I don't know. I mean obviously at that time I wasn't... I mean I just thought that I wanted you to like me. Be my friend. And you had those brilliant eyes and I went about trying to impress you all wrong and—"

Harry had crawled forward while Draco was going on, and now he'd cut the explanation off with his lips. Hermione knew she should look away, as this suddenly felt a very private thing to see, but she didn't. None of the others did either, though, so she felt a bit better about it. Harry and Draco were not the only ones breathless once Harry pulled away.

"Do I get to be filled in?" Hermione asked Harry, if only to break the silence.

He blushed immediately. "Uh, Hagrid took me to get robes before first year, and I met Draco. I thought he was a bit of a, well," Harry shrugged. "Didn't start on the right foot on my end. I didn't tell him my name though, so he didn't know he'd met me, really, not until the train."

Draco was looking at the floor, pink cheeked. "I think maybe that's enough for one game."

"But I'm having fun," Luna sighed.  

"Agreed," said Pansy. "We've hardly done anything yet."

"Then let's at least have a drink if we're keeping on with the embarrassing confessional," Draco suggested tightly.

Hermione shook her head. "Just a few years shy of legal," she pointed out, ever the mother hen.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Please, Draco's been drinking since he could sit upright."

"You might be exaggerating just a bit, Panse," Draco said dryly.

She waved him off. "Oh fine, but you classy Italians quite fancy your liquor, love."

“You know very well that I’m French.”

“Was that supposed to help your case?” Pansy asked, earning a giggle from Luna.

“Point taken,” conceded Draco.

Blaise clapped him on the shoulder. "Believe it's your turn, mate."

"Lo–Neville."

"I suppose you all want me to choose dare," he said cautiously.

Pansy smiled brightly at him, Draco looked pleased. "I dare you to go steal a potion."

Neville's eyes went wide. "You're mental! Filch is still out there and–and Snape'll have my head if I'm caught!"

Draco appeared to swallow a laugh. "Yes, well, don't get caught then. You managed the first time."

"It is truth or dare, after all," Luna encouraged.

Finally, Neville agreed. Pansy turned to them all as soon as he was gone. "Think he'll be able to do it?"

"Neville's resourceful," Hermione told them. “But Snape’s potions are quite secure."

"You'd of been able to, no doubt," said Draco off-handedly.

Hermione tried not to show how caught off guard she was by the casual compliment. "W–well I'd like to think so at least."

It was still odd, she thought, that Draco Malfoy was truly treating her as a friend.

Not all that long a time had passed when Neville returned, blowing into the room as though hell itself was on his heels. He sat back down and breathed out a great sigh of relief. "Thought for sure Filch had me," he told them once his breath returned.

"Was it a success?" Luna asked.

Neville looked at them like they’d somehow lost their minds. “Of course not."

There were various groans of disappointment at this, but no one was too surprised. Whatever the case, it meant there would be another dare. Draco contemplated for a moment. “Choose someone to exchange briefs with.”

Neville paled, looking round at the company and realizing his very limited options at the same time Blaise did, judging by the appearance of his devilish grin. “In front of everyone?” Neville squeaked.

Draco was doing his level best to appear serious, but the mischievous glint in his eyes ruined the effect. “Well, suppose you could go off with just whoever you chose,” he said, glancing at Blaise, “but you’d still have to contend with each other.”

“Obviously I’m going to pick Blaise, since neither you or Harry would truly allow otherwise,” he said, the closest estimation to a hiss any Longbottom had likely ever produced.

Draco smiled in full now.

Neville shot the dark skinned boy a weary look, seemed to steal himself, and stood up. “Come on.” He sounded nothing more than resigned.

Blaise stood, lifted his shirt a bit and pulled out a bit of his briefs, showing everyone the colour. Neville, after a moment, did the same. They both left the room shortly after. Not two minutes later, they strolled back in, Blaise flashing a bit of Neville’s briefs as proof of the switch. “They’re a bit tight, but they’ll do,” he said as he sat, smirking.

Nearly everyone politely ignored Neville’s violent blush, but Pansy released a short cackle seemingly before she could stop herself. “Your turn Neville,” she reminded him joyfully.

"Blaise," he said.

"Truth," Blaise replied without missing a beat.

"Right um, are the stories about your mum true? No offence," he added hastily. Hermione wouldn’t have found this line of questioning odd, it was natural to be curious about Veela heritage, and Blaise’s mum was quite infamous, but the look on Neville’s face was making her second guess it. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

Blaise laughed. "Every last one," he said. "Okay maybe not every _single_ one, but yeah. Luna.” He pushed the game along quickly, seemingly oblivious to the peculiar look the answer brought to Neville’s features.

 _It’s just a game Hermione,_ she privately chastised.

“I think I’ll do truth,” Luna decided happily. Pansy sent a warning look in Blaise’s direction that he ignored.

“Thank Merlin, I’ve been dying to know for _ages_ ,” Blaise told her. “Why say yes to _Pansy_?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue why we’re mates,” Pansy stated haughtily. Luna smiled, her cheeks turning just a bit pink. “Other than being the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen? It wasn’t any one thing, everything about her is simply enchanting,” Luna informed everyone, eyeing the Slytherin girl almost dreamily. Pansy, who had grown quite red, seemed unable to say a thing.

“Is it my turn to choose someone?” asked Luna. Several of the group nodded and she said, “Harry.”

Harry sighed. "Dare."

“I think I’ll dare you to put on some makeup. I’m a bit curious how you would look, you see.”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together. “Uh... why?”

Blaise shook his head in mock exasperation. “It’s a game. Does there have to be a reason?”

“I suppose not...” Harry admitted.

“Fantastic. Who’s got some?” He glanced at the girls.

Pansy giggled and stood, reaching out a hand to help Harry up. “Come along doll, let’s make you _edgy_.”

They went off in the direction of the bathroom, and the remainder of the group made small talk for the next ten minutes until Harry and Pansy re-entered the room. Even those present but not involved in the game turned to look, and there was a gasp or two.

“Oh Merlin,” Draco breathed.

Harry’s glasses were not on his face, making the slashes of eyeliner even more effective. It rounded his eyes in a way that reminded Hermione of the muggle rock culture a few of her parent’s friends enjoyed. Harry’s eyes were always rather impressive, but at the moment they appeared nothing short of literal jewels surrounded by the abundance of soot black makeup. Pansy had even gone so far as to attempt to tame his nest of hair, apparently just for kicks, and having—impossibly—some success.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked. “I can’t see a thing.”

“But we can,” Blaise told him, sharing a conspirators look with Pansy.

Draco appeared to be attempting to speak, and having some trouble with the task.

“It’s just makeup, dear,” Pansy said with a delight that did not match the statement itself. She clearly knew perfectly well what she’d accomplished, and was rather smug about it. She leant in to mock-whisper in Harry’s ear, seeing as everyone could hear. “They’re gaping because you look sexy, love. I think Draco’s even sweating a bit.”

Draco sputtered a little at this but clearly couldn’t deny it, or form any response at all by the looks of it. He cleared his throat and adjusted his seating position just a fraction. Hermione refused to overanalyse _that_.

“Not that this isn’t adorable,” Blaise eventually said. “But choose someone else before I get bored.”

And just like that, the game was back on. Hermione wasn't sure how long it lasted, or when she had fallen asleep. But the next thing she was aware of was a hand shaking her shoulder and Draco's voice saying "Hermione, come on get up. Breakfast's nearly over."

She groaned at the sudden ache in her bones. When she opened her eyes, Draco gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to tell you, you slept on the floor."

Hermione looked around, so that explained it. "It's alright," she croaked. "Where did you sleep?"

"Right beside you. We all did. I woke everyone else and they left already, has anyone told you you sleep like the dead?"

She sat up, and Draco helped her the rest of the way. There was no helping her second groan, the dungeons did not have comfortable flooring. And it was so cold, every part of her was stiff—exhaustion hung over her like a cloud. How late had they all nodded off?

"My mum says that all the time," she answered him as she brushed herself off.

"Harry went to fetch a change of clothes and take his makeup off, said to tell you he'd meet you at breakfast. Not sure you'll make it, though."

She waved him off. "It's alright. I should go back to the tower for clothes and a shower."

He nodded, and she began to turn away. "Um Hermione?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"I just," he paused, scratching his neck. "Look I know that I was kind of... I mean what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry. You were right when you said I never really knew what I was saying—about blood and such I mean. I said some foul things and I probably still sometimes think a few things you might not completely agree with because of my family—look, you're not at all how I thought you'd be. I can see why Harry puts so much stock in everything you say, and clearly you wouldn't abandon him like the w– Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry is all."

She'd let him go on a while, trying to keep her smile at bay. After all, she'd been waiting years for that apology, never mind that she'd doubted she'd ever get it.

"Draco," she said. "I've already forgiven you. And I’d like if you consider me a friend now."

"Oh," said Draco eloquently. "Well, in that case, um, thank you. I–I'm glad that we're friends. Merlin knows I could use someone to talk to that actually pays attention in classes."

She smiled brightly at the words. "That I can do."

"Maybe if I studied with you, I'd finally manage to score higher than you on something."

"Not likely," Hermione said almost automatically.

Draco laughed, it was a startling but welcome sound that made the Slytherin seem even more human. She smiled wryly at him and went to leave.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"CLOSE IT CLOSE IT BLOODY CLOSE IT!!" Draco hollered, his voice barely carrying over the gods awful screeching emanating from the egg.

Harry all too happily did as he was told, just as horrified by the sound as he was the first time he'd tried to open it. It was why he'd wanted to put this off in the first place. But Draco had brought up the second task a few days ago, worried about its' fast approaching.

"People have died in this tournament, Harry," he'd said.

And damn if it didn't still amaze Harry that Draco Malfoy could sound that concerned over _him_. Draco had not been pleased to discover that Harry had not figured out anything regarding what was expected of him, and had insisted that they begin trying to decipher it immediately. Harry had tried to warn Draco, asked him to get ear plugs or something to serve as proper ear protection, but the blond had waved him off.

Now said blond was staring at him, hands still over his ears and grey eyes wide. Slowly, he dropped his arms.

"What the rutting hell was _that?_ " Draco demanded.

"Ask the lunatics who gave it to us," Harry replied, ears still ringing. "What clue we're supposed to gather from that, I've no idea."

"There's got to be some way to... Merlin I don't know. I'm going to the library," said Draco.

"You sounded like Hermione just then," Harry told him.

"The highest compliment," proclaimed the blond. Draco leant down to kiss him quickly then, but that was a lost cause. It was never quick, because once they started in, they had trouble stopping. It was why Rita Skeeter—the cow—had had plenty of images to splash across her articles day in and day out for those first couple of weeks before the novelty had worn. And alone in Draco's dorm room, it was even harder. Five minutes at least had gone by before Draco finally left.

Harry was more than happy that Draco and Hermione were friends, that they spent time together without him even. It was like he and Hermione were always meant to be a part of a trio, and now Draco had filled the vacant space. Except not at all, because Harry still missed Ron terribly.

It had taken the rest of Hogwarts weeks to get over the _scandal,_  but now people were beginning to talk to him again. At first he'd felt like he'd had some sort of disease, and only the Slytherins were immune. Now it was like the other Houses were suddenly recalling the fact that he and Draco were, in fact, still human beings.

All except, of course, Ron. Harry barely saw him anymore, only in classes, where the redhead would determinately ignore him. And in the Great Hall during meals, where he would sit next to his brothers and act as though Harry were not in the room. Harry had taken to sitting with the Slytherins during these meals, since there was no spoken rules against this, and most of his friends were Slytherins now anyway. Hermione, though, tended to sit wherever Viktor sat, making conversation and possibly more friends among the witches and wizards of Durmstrang. Harry was glad that she'd found someone who seemed to genuinely care for her. Though they'd spoken little, Harry knew that Krum was a good person. He'd stuck by Hermione when she'd chosen to stick by Harry, and for that Harry was extraordinarily grateful. He hoped that the two of them would stay together once the tournament was over, it seemed they would.

Not for the first time, though, Harry wondered how Ron felt about this. It was often that he found himself wondering about how Ron felt regarding something. Harry knew, of course, what Ron thought of himself and Draco. But did Ron miss Harry? Did he possibly get worked up sometimes, and go searching for Harry on impulse, only to spot him and remember that he shouldn't of gone looking at all? Because Harry did, quite a lot actually. And Harry was tired of it. With a sigh, he let himself fall backwards until his back hit Draco's mattress. He didn't bother to say anything a few minutes later as Theo came in, climbed into his own bed, and promptly fell asleep. Harry decided he may as well nap too, and closed his eyes, taking comfort in the smell of Draco that clung to the bedsheets and appreciating very much the fact that he had nowhere he needed to be.

`&`

That evening, Draco still sat in the library across from Hermione, searching through a useless book about eggs, when Pyxis—his family owl—approached. That was odd, since his mother's letters usually came at dinner. When he opened this particular letter, however, he understood that this couldn't have waited until dinner.

He read it twice through, and then dropped it onto the table. He could feel Hermione's concerned gaze on him, but he did not meet her eyes. Seconds later, though, the letter was snatched and in her hands.

"Don't—" he started, but the girl was already reading. Draco sighed, cold already settled over him, and watched her eyes dart across the page and read the words it'd only taken him twice to memorise.

 

_Draco,_

 

_I am writing this letter as a courtesy that you by no means deserve. Your mother wishes me to inform you that she will no longer be taking part in a correspondence between the two of you, and therefore wishes that you cease contacting her. Thinking of you, obviously, causes great distress, what with the shame you have brought upon this family. Do show some decency and do as you are asked. I will not allow you to harm your mother further._

 

_LM_

 

"Draco," said Hermione. The sympathy in her voice nearly did him in.

"It's fine," he assured her, still avoiding her eyes.

"Your mother can't of—"

"Of course not," he snapped, looking at his friend at last. "That's just my father's way of saying that he'll now be intercepting any letters sent to her and any she might send to me. My mother's already assured me that she accepts me, this is purely Lucius."

"I'm sorry," Hermione told him.

"I shouldn't of expected anything less," he replied.

"It's not right," she said.

"Yes, well, it's the way it's going to be, apparently." He stood then. "I should turn in for the night."

"It's only eight," she protested, but it was halfhearted.

"Goodnight, Hermione." He left the library still feeling chilled and more than a bit out of sorts, the ridiculous letter crumpled in his fist.

`&`

"Cedric Diggory is staring at you," Draco told Harry the next morning at breakfast.

Harry scoffed. "He's staring at _us_ , just like everyone else always is."

"Alright, he's not staring, really," Draco allowed, as the Hufflepuff had looked away for possibly the fourth time. "But he's putting me on edge."

"You'd think you'd be used to everyone's eyes by now," Harry told him, teasing.

"People haven't been looking at us quite so much anymore," Draco said. "It's been dying down. Yet Diggory just glanced over at you _again._ "

Something in his voice must have alarmed Harry, since his eyes snapped up to look up at him. His jaw nearly dropped. "Wait," he said, "are you jealous?"

Pansy giggled at Harry's side, and Harry trained his eyes on the girl. "Is he really jealous?"

"Oi," Draco said, "I'm sitting right here."

"He is indeed," Pansy told the green eyed boy. "You should have seen him pitch a fit near beginning of term, your eyes were on Diggory all the bloody time. Draco was nearly impossible to tolerate."

"Panse," Draco hissed through his teeth. The Slytherin housemates closest to them were smirking or giggling.

But Harry was only gaping. "My eyes were _not_ —Cedric? That's—"

"So it really wasn't on purpose than?" Blaise asked, sounding fascinated.

"I... I never—"

"Don't worry Harry, everyone sports a crush on Diggory at one point or another," Pansy soothed. "You were just enamored by his pretty face like all the rest of us, Draco included."

It was apparently Draco's turn to defend himself. "I have _never_ —"

"Denial is never healthy, Dray. Anyone with half a working eye can see that Diggory is unfairly fit. There's nothing wrong with admitting it."

Harry stood rather abruptly then. "I think I'll just get a head start to class," he said. Draco was still too stunned by how the conversation had turned to follow, only snapping out of his stupor when he noticed Diggory standing and chasing Harry out of the hall.

He was nearly out of his seat when Pansy reached out and yanked him back down. "Jealousy isn't cute on you, dear," she chastised. "Diggory may be fit, but you've got to have some trust that Harry chose you."

"Yeah," Blaise added. "Don't be so clingy. Clingy is never good."

So Draco breathed through his nose, and finished his breakfast as normally as possible.

`&`

"Hey—Harry!" A voice called before he'd even rounded the first corner. Harry knew it was unreasonable to think Cedric could have heard the horribly awkward conversation he'd been the subject of at the Slytherin table, but Harry could also sometimes be the paranoid sort.

"Yeah?" Harry asked warily after he'd turned to face the taller boy.

Cedric, however, didn't appear to notice anything amiss. "Listen... I still owe you one for telling me about the dragons. Would have told you sooner but you've been... anyway. About the golden egg, does yours wail when you open it?"

"Something awful, yeah," Harry said.

"Well... take a bath, okay?"

"What?" Harry asked, bewildered and a little nervous now.

"Take a bath and–er–take the egg with you, and–er–just mull things over in the hot water. It'll help you think... trust me."

Harry stared at him.

"Tell you what," Cedric said, "use the prefects bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the Fifth floor. Password's 'pine fresh.' I have to go." And with that, Cedric walked off.

`&`

"He asked you to take a _bath_?!" Draco demanded hours later after leaving the great hall, both outraged and disbelieving.

"Not like that!" Harry insisted, attempting to calm his boyfriend. Draco's stormy expression, unfortunately, didn't ease. Pansy had clearly been serious about Draco being the jealous type. Harry thought perhaps he could have worded his statement a bit better. "I mean it, it wasn't at all like that. It's _Cedric_ for Merlin's sake."

"I'm well aware," Draco replied coldly.

"Oh for the love of—" Harry cut himself off by firmly pressing his lips to the blond's.

As always, it was as though a switch had flipped. It didn't matter that they were in the middle of a corridor where anyone could walk by and see them, given that it was still lunch time. In fact, that was the last thing that mattered. Harry wondered if there would ever be a time where kissing Draco was less exhilarating, and doubted it wholeheartedly. There was nothing in the world like this. Draco had always used to appear sharpened to him, all pointiness and bones. But his lips were softer than anything, and his hands on Harry's body were tender. His tongue was always gentle as it glided against Harry's own. One of them moaned, Harry was nearly sure it had been him. Harry took a moment to be glad they'd finally mastered how to breathe as they kissed, so the need for air wouldn't interrupt them. Harry was far too turned on to be doing this in public, but as usual he couldn't help himself. Draco was intoxicating.

It was the rude sound of someone clearing their throat that finally gave him the strength to pull away. He couldn't of even said how much time had gone by. His heart was pumping at a ridiculous rate, and he could feel sweat bead on his forehead. A glance at Draco revealed he was anything but the only one. But Draco wasn't looking at him, he was scowling at whoever had come upon them. Harry turned his head, and there stood Ron.

It was like cold water had been dumped all over Harry just then.

"Do the world a favour and at least get a room," Ron said venomously. "Other people _do_ go to school here."

Harry expected Draco to bite out some retort that would make him inwardly cringe, no matter that Ron deserved it this time. But, to his shock, the blond did no such thing. His jaw tightened, and Harry knew at once that Draco wasn't saying anything for his sake. Something warm returned to his chest at the knowledge, and he was suddenly more cross with Ron than ever.

"You could have just walked by and minded your own business," he pointed out.

Ron cut him a cold glare. "I shouldn't have to deal with seeing you two suck each other's faces off, no one should be subjected to that. It's disgusting."

Harry's vision was clouding over red, especially because Draco still had not said a single word. "Disgusting? Really? Well I think there are loads of things that are disgusting, Ron. Like homophobia for example. Oh and dishing out ultimatums. Abandoning your best mate multiple times, that’s also a good one. You know what mate? Me snogging my boyfriend isn't what’s disgusting here, you are."

Harry was vaguely aware that he was bearing his teeth, but he couldn't be bothered to compose himself. Ron opened and closed his mouth several times, apparently unable to think of anything to say. Finally, he slowly turned on his heel and walked away.

"He deserved that," Fred's amused voice assured Harry, who promptly whipped around to see the twins standing not ten feet away, appearing as though trying not to laugh. They'd clearly been there the entire time. Harry tried not to show his surprise when Fred winked at him, playful as he ever was back when they were friends. And suddenly Harry realized that none of the other Weasleys had ever told him they weren't still friends. Harry’s mind chose that moment to remind him that Luna was actually friends with Ginny. He’d just... assumed the red haired girl hated Draco, and therefore him by default. But had she ever actually said so? Had he even spoken to her about it? The only one of the family he could now recall having an outright issue was, in fact, Ron.

"We've all told him he's being a prat, but he won't hear it," George added.

"Thanks," Harry barely managed to say.

"See you around, mate," Fred said, he and George smiling full rows of teeth, one reaching out to muss Harry’s dark curls before walking off. They went in opposite direction their younger brother had gone.

Draco groaned and leaned against the wall. "I'm an awful person," he said, pulling Harry from his incredulous state.  

"What? Why would you—no you aren't!"

A soft smile lit up Draco's face. "Wasn't too long ago you'd of agreed with me on that."

"Yeah, well, that was then. I didn't know you then."

Draco smirked. "Didn't you?"

The words were playful, but Harry wanted to give a real answer, sentimental as it was going to sound. He looked Draco directly in the eyes. "No, I didn't. Not this you, anyway. I'd never heard you laugh like you do when you're happy. I'd never seen you be playful or protective or caring. And now that I have, it doesn't matter who calls me disgusting or delusional or whatever else, because you are incredi–"

This kiss was, impossibly, more heated. That was until Draco pulled away. "I shouldn't have interrupted," he said, a little breathless. "Please do keep saying those nice things about me."

Harry laughed, but then he remembered what they'd been talking about. "Tell me why you said you were awful first."

Draco swallowed. "Because you telling him off was—I know how difficult that must of been for you, and I'm awful for enjoying it so much."

"S'pose I can't fault you for that," Harry sighed.

"I know you miss being his friend."

"Maybe," Harry allowed. "But he was the one who made me choose. And I'm glad I chose you."

Draco looked at him for a moment. "Sometimes I still can't believe this is real," he told Harry quietly. "You don't know how long I—you can't know what it was like."

"It's real," Harry assured him. "I'm not going anywhere, either."

"Good. Because if you die in this bloody ridiculous tournament I'm likely to go mad."

Harry rolled his eyes then. "No one is dying, and certainly not me. Which reminds me, I'm to take the egg to the bath tonight."

"The more you say it, the stranger it sounds."

"That mean you're not coming with?"

"I—what?" Draco's cheeks flushed that delicious shade of pink.

Harry couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. "I'm just kidding," he admitted. "This time."

Draco took a few minutes to speak again. "Right, I—um. Class is probably a good, er, idea, yeah?"

Harry did his best not to laugh again as Draco tripped a bit and righted himself before finally rounding the corner and disappearing.

`&`

It was thanks to Myrtle that Harry finally got the egg's clue that night. Not that it made much sense at all. Despite the late hour, he planned to head straight to the Slytherin common room to see Draco about it. Harry slept there half the time anyway. He double checked the Marauder’s Map to be sure the coast was clear, secure in the knowledge that Filch and Mrs. Norris were in their office. The only dot that seemed to be moving was Peeves. He was just about to close the Map when he noticed something odd: a single dot was flitting around a room in the bottom left-hand corner– Snape’s office. But the dot wasn’t labeled “Severus Snape”... it was Bartemius Crouch.

Harry stared at the dot in confusion. Mr. Crouch, as far as Harry had last heard, had been too ill to go to work. Crouch hadn’t even attended the Yule Ball—so what was he doing, sneaking into Hogwarts at one o’clock in the morning? Harry hesitated briefly, a warning voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Draco telling him to rethink what he wanted to do. In the end, though, Harry’s curiosity won out. He moved toward the nearest staircase, planning to find out just what Crouch was up to.

It was not even a full minute later that Harry’s luck abandoned him, and he was, quite literally, stuck regretting his decision. He had forgotten about the trick step, and his leg had sunk right through, trapping him. Worse, his golden egg had slipped out from under his arm and, in an attempt to catch it, he’d dropped the Marauder’s Map. He’d managed to re-secure the invisibility cloak, but it hardly mattered. The egg had burst open on impact and was now wailing loudly in the corridor below him.

Harry did not wait long before a cry of “PEEVES!” rang through the space. The following minutes were some of the most anxious and stress inducing of Harry’s life. In the end, Moody had managed to just save him from being discovered by the likes of Snape and gotten rid of Filch. Harry was freed of the trick step and given his egg, though Moody had wanted to borrow the Map. Harry hadn’t had much of a choice but to agree. He wasn’t too upset though, since things could have ended a lot worse. Not to mention everything Moody had said when Harry’d pointed out the strange things that had gone on this year had given him quite a bit to consider.

Harry walked slowly towards the dungeons, needing to talk to Draco more than ever about the million questions firing through his head about Crouch and Snape and everything else. He knew, also, that it was probably a good idea to write to Sirius about the night’s occurrences. Harry hadn’t heard anything from his godfather since Christmas morning when he’d opened his gift, not even throughout the spectacle that was himself and Draco becoming a couple. If he was honest with himself, Harry was just the slightest bit worried about what Sirius had been thinking about him—he’d been doing his best not to consider the worst.

Theo was still up when Harry reached the dungeons, which really was no surprise given that he was practically nocturnal most days and tended to be exhausted if the sun was up. His nose was in a book when Harry entered and shucked off his invisibility cloak.

"Draco asleep?"

Theo leapt nearly a foot into the air, then clutched his hand to his chest rather dramatically. "Bloody hell, mate. You scared the daylights out of me."

Harry smiled. "Sorry."

"Is that an invisibility cloak?" Theo demanded once he'd regained himself.

"Didn't you know I had one?"

The other boy looked incredulous. "No! I'm sure that I'd of remembered something like that."

Right, Harry thought. It had never come up. And, he realised, he'd never told any of his Slytherin friends about the Marauders Map either.

"Oh well, uh, I do, but I hadn't needed it lately. Is Draco and everyone asleep?"

"Probably not. Well, maybe Vince. Go on and find out, I'm going to get back to what I was reading before you decided to grace me with a heart attack."

Harry chuckled and left off towards Draco's dorm.

 

It turned out that Draco was, in fact, asleep. Vincent was also, but Greg appeared to be doing last minute homework and Blaise was idly painting the ceiling with the help of his wand.

"Here I was thinking you'd chosen your own bed tonight," Blaise said, smirking but not looking away from his vandalism.

Harry shrugged, and gave him a half smile. "Something more important than sleep came up." He made his way over to Draco's bed and sat at the foot of it. His boyfriend's arm was thrown over his stomach, white-blond hair spilled on his sheets. He looked so peaceful, Harry suddenly wasn't in a rush to get him up. He loved seeing Draco's expression so open and relaxed, and all his problems would still be there in the morning after all. Before he'd even realised it, he'd reached out his hand and stroked through Draco's locks.

"How sweet," Blaise teased from behind him. "Watching him sleep, gods the great Harry Potter is a sap."

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Whatever, I'm his boyfriend. I'm allowed to be a sap when it comes to him."

"Talking about me?" Draco's groggy voice inquired, his lips turning up softly as his eyes slowly opened. It might of been the most endearing thing Harry'd ever seen.

"Constantly," Harry replied.

The blond smiled wider and sat up, rolling his shoulders. "Didn't mean to nod off, knew you'd probably come. Any luck?"

"Some. It's a riddle, I've got to solve it I guess. But that’s not really what we need to talk about."

"A riddle, I'm good with riddles. What is it though?" He sounded quite relieved, and Harry was glad he hadn't waited until morning to come if it put Draco a bit more at ease. Still, he’d already decided that everything else could wait. All he really wanted right now was to lie down next to Draco.

"Yeah, scoot over though. We'll discuss everything when the sun's up."

"But—yeah okay." He apparently didn't have the energy to protest, as he laid back down in the next second and slid over some to give Harry space. Usually, if he slept here, Harry would transfigure a bed for himself or borrow a space from one of the handful of Slytherins who nodded off in the common room or elsewhere, but tonight he didn't want to.

Blaise turned the lights off a minute later, ignoring Greg's exhausted-sounding, futile protests.

In the morning, Harry would put aside his nerves and write to Sirius. He would tell Draco about everything that had happened, likely endure his boyfriend chastising him about attempting to investigate in the first place, and then they’d both work out what to do from there. But for tonight, Harry would put everything out of his mind and fall asleep in Draco’s arms.

`&`

“So, what you’re telling me is that you’ve not only known where a _known Death Eater_ was this entire time, but that _you helped him escape in the first place?_ ” Draco demanded the next day, just after Harry had sent off the letter to his godfather. He had saved telling Draco about Sirius for last for this very reason.

“Shhhhhh,” Hermione and Harry both hissed at the same time. They each instinctively looked around then, double checking that no one was in the common room to overhear.

“He’s innocent Draco,” Harry replied once he was again certain they were alone. “And he’s my godfather.”

“And he’s my cousin or something,” Draco reminded them. “Just because someone is family doesn’t mean they’re innocent, or that you should protect them. Merlin, do you even realise what could have happened if you’d been caught helping him escape? How you even managed it is beyond me.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, thinking for a moment of time turners and wings. Hermione shook it off first.

“We’ll tell you that story another day,” she said dismissively. “Right now what you need to understand is that Sirius Black is not, nor has he ever been, a Death Eater. He was framed by Peter Pettigrew—”

“Isn’t that who he—”

“The _rat_ is in perfect bloody health,” Harry spit. Then, remembering himself, he bit his lip apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione rubbed his back. “It’s alright, Harry. You have every right to hate him.”

Draco looked between the two of them somewhat helplessly. “I still don’t understand what’s going on.”

Harry smiled a little. “I think that story’ll have to be told today after all, Hermione.”

Hermione sighed, took a breath, and launched into the tale that was last year. By the end, Draco was gaping openly at the both of them. Harry didn’t blame him, he wouldn’t know what to say either if he hadn’t lived it all himself.

Finally, after several long moments, Draco quietly said, “I’m sorry again about the Hippogriff.”

Hermione and Harry, despite everything, couldn’t help but laugh.

`&`

Draco Malfoy thought he could very well develop an ulcer what with the amount of stress he was dealing with. It had only taken a few days for himself, Harry, and Hermione to work out the meaning of the golden egg’s riddle and realise what needed to be done. The problem was managing it, and they were nearly out of time.

The second task was in less than two weeks, and they'd been through book after book about Merfolk and breathing underwater and been entirely unable to find anything Hermione or Draco himself labeled sufficient. Worse, Harry—in Draco's opinion—was nowhere near as concerned about this as he should have been. His endless optimism was beginning to worry Draco as much as the rest of it.

"Alright mate?" Neville cut into his thoughts to ask. "Look about ready to blow a fuse."

Draco had been dating Harry for a while now, but he didn't think he'd ever get used to Neville Longbottom feeling comfortable around him, let alone being friends. But Neville was actually alright, he and Blaise had made fast-friends. And Draco also knew it made Harry happy to still have some of his friends from Gryffindor.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just that my boyfriend's likely to get himself killed come next week."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Know anything about how to breathe underwater?" Draco asked by way of response, not expecting anything to come of it.

"Not sure, but I think I read about a plant that could help."

Draco's head snapped towards the other boy so fast he nearly made himself dizzy. "A plant?" he repeated dumbly.

"Sure. There are herbs for all sorts of things, why not this?" Neville said, completely unaware of the gravity of this revelation.

"I—that's brilliant!"

"Mr. Malfoy, something you would like to share with the class?" Professor Flitwick inquired, apparently at the end of his patience with the two boys having a discussion during his lesson.

"No professor," said Draco, but he was distracted through the rest of class.

`&`

If there was one thing Hermione thought she'd never hear the likes of Draco Malfoy say, it would have been the proclamation that he could _kiss_ _Neville Longbottom_. It made Hermione wonder for possibly the millionth time how they had gotten to this place, a place in which the blond who once tormented her would enter the library and sit right down beside her, positively beaming. And she would be, not wary, but relieved, even glad. Because there was only one reason Draco would be smiling at such a stressful time as this: when he'd solved the problem.

"And why's that?" she asked anyway, smiling back.

"Gillyweed," replied Draco.

Hermione blinked, then gaped. "Oh, of course!"

At that, she was abruptly shushed by Madam Pince, but for once the chastisement hardly mattered. "That's genius!" She exclaimed in a whisper this time. "Neville helped I take it?"

"More than. I wouldn't have even known to think along those lines if he hadn't said something. This is it, Harry's going to do fine. Merlin it's like I can breathe again... er no pun intended."

Hermione giggled like a loon, positively giddy with relief. "I'm glad that Viktor has himself sorted and won't tell me a thing, otherwise I would feel guilty."

Draco nodded seriously, but his relief still shone in his bright grey eyes. "Yeah, good thing. Anyway I knew you'd be here and you were closer so I thought I'd come share, but I really should go tell Harry."

Hermione was about to wave him off, when something occurred to her. "Um Draco?"

He paused midway out of his seat, body tensing at her tone. "What is it?"

"It's just that erm, how exactly are you going to _get_ the gillyweed?"

The blond boy stared at her for a moment, before collapsing back into the chair. "Bollocks."

She looked at him sadly, and reached out to pat his shoulder. "Maybe Harry will have an idea," she attempted to sound comforting. "This is _his_ task after all. He ought to be helping a bit more."

Draco nodded, some of the weight of the past few weeks returned to his shoulders, and stood again. "Suppose I'd better go and find out."

Hermione, dejected, returned her thoughts to house elves.

`&`

"Isn't that stuff used in potions?" Harry asked when Draco eventually caught up with him.

"Actually yes," Draco said, proud that Harry at least knew something from the past three and a half years of potions courses.

"Don't sound so proud," Harry admonished. "I only meant that Snape should have some, right?"

Now Draco was beginning to catch on. He spoke low enough that no one walking around them could hear. "Are you about to suggest that we steal it from Professor Snape?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any better ideas?"

No, Draco didn't. But Severus already hated Harry, and the man wasn't an imbecile. He'd know who took it, given that Harry would have to use it in front of everyone during the second task. The only hope they had was if Severus were unable to prove that Harry had stolen it personally, then his hands would be tied. Which forced Draco’s reply, "If we do this, we can't get caught. You can't afford it."

Harry looked a bit stunned. "I thought that would take more convincing," he admitted.

Draco smiled, slowly shaking his head. "Gods, I love you."

He only realised what he'd said a moment later when everyone in the vicinity froze and turned to stare at the two of them.  

But then Harry, seemingly oblivious, smiled at him, and something in Draco relaxed.

"Is that so?" Harry asked, biting his lip a bit and leaning close to him. Draco knew it really wasn't on to kiss with a very literal, bated-breathed audience, and it was as though Harry read his mind in the last moment. He seemed to meet everyone's eyes at once. "You lot waiting for a show or?"

And just like that, everyone was scurrying away.

`&`

That night, the two boys lay side by side in Draco's bed, scheming about what they would have to do to get the gillyweed from Snape, when the events of earlier returned to Draco's mind.

"Draco?" Harry asked when he realised the blond was not truly listening anymore.

Grey eyes met emerald ones and the words flowed from Draco's lips. "I really do, you know. Love you, I mean. I know people would say I don’t know what I’m talking about and all that rubbish, but you've always been... I'll never feel about anyone the same way I feel about you. I've known it all along practically, that I love you. All the reasons why not be damned."

He couldn't quite keep up with the range of emotion on Harry's face. But then the brunet said, "That's a really good thing, because I love you too. I would have said it earlier, but I thought it deserved a bit more privacy than we had at that moment, not to mention time for me to snog you properly."

Draco smirked, eyes sweeping the room to give his next words more effect. "Well, it seems we're alone in my bed. So now seems a reasonable time for you to do so, and maybe repeat that, for the sake of my ego of course."

Harry laughed and kissed him, and it felt every bit as brilliant as the first time they'd ever kissed. "I love you," Harry said between that kiss and the next. Another "I love you" after it. Then another kiss. "I love you." And another. "I love you." And another. "I love you."

And Draco blissfully lost count until, "Bloody hell, why must I always be the one to witness your every ridiculously sappy act?" Blaise's voice rang through the dorm room. "I am a gods-damned creature of the night!"

Draco sighed and rolled over to look at his barely-at-the-moment friend. "Oh please, you're like seven percent Veela if I'm being generous, creature of the night my arse."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "This is my dorm as well, so either go find somewhere else to be sickeningly in love, or go to _sleep_."

Draco smiled. "You're sure you wouldn't like to discuss how Harry and I are going to pull one over on Snape?"

Blaise raised his eyebrow. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied. "You in?"

The dark skinned boy gave a wicked grin and nodded.

`&`

At breakfast two days before the task, Harry finally received a long and anxiously awaited reply from Sirius. Upon opening it, Harry’s heart sank even further into his stomach.

 

_Send date of next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl._

 

That was all it said. Hermione assured him that it didn’t mean anything and that everything would be fine, but Harry wasn’t so sure. Regardless, he did as she suggested and sent back a reply straight away with the date. For now, though, Harry would simply have to put Sirius and everything they needed to discuss out of his mind.

`&`

It was decided, much to Harry's initial protests, that during class was actually the safest time to pull off the gillyweed theft, as it was the only time Snape would be far from his storeroom and occupied so as not to notice any potential alarms. And since Snape was so meticulous about inventory, they would only have one shot: the day before the task.

Even worse, everyone was going to have to be willing to sacrifice House points to do it—everyone being all the Gryffindors. The only reason Hermione and Neville had agreed was because it would be Draco doing the actual breaking in and stealing, and his would be the worst punishment of all if he was somehow caught in the act.

It would be down to Blaise alone to discreetly watch for Draco's entrances and exits, since Harry's role in things—as well as Hermione's and Neville's—was to occupy Snape's attention by bringing his wrath down upon themselves. All the three of them could do was pray it would all go according to plan and they wouldn't be forfeiting their entire lives to detention with the man as a result.

"Stop looking so nervous," Draco chided quietly as he sat down next to Harry at the start of class. They had nearly always been partners in potions, difference was now they were each quite happy about it. Only today it could potentially make things more difficult.

Hermione sat down next to Ron, who hardly breathed a word to her these days, and began working as if nothing was going on. Neville did the same, only he always looked nervous in Potions, so nothing with him would seem amiss. Blaise looked relaxed as ever. Harry breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, giving nothing away as Snape began to explain today's potion. Harry hardly heard a word of it, and it wouldn't matter seeing as the entire goal this period was to brew the potion wrong and make the greatest mess possible.

Half way through the period, Hermione's cauldron blew up in her face. Snape descended on her, obviously trying to keep his glee at Hermione's failure in check, and having little success. The chaos began when she leapt from her chair and began wailing. The pleased gleam in Snape's eyes disappeared, replaced by obvious apprehension at the sight of tears. Ron, smack in the middle of the whole mess and completely ignorant, looked gobsmacked.

Draco, slowly, stood and made his silent exit from the classroom.

"Do please get a hold of yourself Granger!" Snape demanded. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for this absolutely unnecessary display!"

"I-I'm sorry Pr-professor Snape s-sir but I've nev-er had this h-happen before and-d I-" Hermione sobbed. Harry kept his eyes on the scene, not daring to acknowledge his missing partner.

"I'm sure it surprised you that you are not, in fact, perfect miss Granger. But that is really no excuse for these theatrics! Get back in your chair and clean up your station, as you and Weasley have obviously failed this assignment," he finished.

“No, Professor Snape sir please. I can f-fix this!” she begged loudly.

Snape’s lip had curled up so far that Harry could see his gums even from where he sat. “That is _enough_ Miss Granger! Thirty more points from Gryffindor House! There is no fixing such a disgraceful muck up. Now be quiet and do as you are told!”

“I’m s-sorry, Professor,” Hermione whimpered, wiping at her nose.

The next moment Neville's potion exploded. As he did every day in Snape's class, Neville looked petrified as Snape turned and glared. _If looks could kill_ , Harry thought. Snape made his way over to Neville and began his usual tirade, made that much more severe by the horribly destroyed potion in front of the boy. "You are an embarrassment, Longbottom," Harry heard the greasy man say at one point, just after he'd taken another twenty five points from Gryffindor House, and Neville just accepted the complete tongue-lashing stoically. Or more like he was used to it. Harry gritted his teeth and, just when Snape had _finally_ turned from Nev, dropped in the ingredient that Draco had silently suggested earlier, and sat calmly as his own cauldron went up in a loud boom.

"Merlin! Are you all incompetent?!" Snape demanded before stalking over to Harry's workstation. "I really shouldn't be surprised Potter, your abysmal effort in my class is as unmatched as ever. Another thirty points from Gryffindor! And where is your _partner_ ," Harry didn't miss the double meaning, "he should have prevented this."

Harry held his breath for only a single moment, but then Draco—having returned unnoticed during the final explosion as planned—was sliding into the seat next to him. "Sorry professor, I just went to get the scurvy grass," he paused to tisk at their ruined potion, "though I suppose it was a waste of a trip."

Harry was impressed, the blond didn’t even appear out of breath as he must have been.

"Indeed. Five points from Slytherin for allowing this Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, and turned away.

Harry caught Draco's eye and the blond, to his relief, nodded his confirmation.

`&`

Blaise found the entire situation unbelievably hilarious, which he made very clear that evening in the Slytherin common room before dinner. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Neville and Pansy had all had taken up various positions in front of the fireplace, listening to Blaise laugh and retell the story from his point of view.

"I wish you lot had been able to appreciate his face when Harry's cauldron went up, it was priceless!" He exclaimed, laughing some more.

"You were supposed to be making sure Draco was in the clear, not looking at Snape, if I recall correctly," Harry gritted out.

The chuckling Slytherin waved him off. "Draco was perfectly fine, had plenty of time what with the way Snape tore Nev’s head off for five minutes. No one even came close to noticing he was gone."

"It's true," Pansy assured them all. "No one was looking anywhere but at Snape. I still can't believe none of you let me in on the plan, though," she huffed.

"It wasn't necessary, Panse," Draco said. "You would have just been one more nervous person who might've given me away before I made it back."

The girl made a sour face but didn't deny the truth of the statement. "You're all lucky it worked."

"Wouldn't say that," Neville replied. "We did lose quite a lot of points for Gryffindor. No one's all that happy with us right now."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Your House changes its collective mind at the drop of a dime. Give it a couple days and it'll be fine."

"In a couple days I might be a while dead," Harry joked, smiling until Draco went still.

"That's not funny," the blond hissed.

Harry bit his lip, effectively shamed.

"Yeah, mate. People really have died in the past," Neville put in.

Harry sighed, very strongly regretting his attempt at humour. "I'm not going to die," he assured them. "You lot made sure of that today, remember? I'll be able to breathe just fine now. I'll do whatever I've got to do and it'll be alright."

"They could put anything under that water, Harry," Hermione reminded him softly. "Just because you'll be able to breathe now doesn't make the task safe."

Draco's jaw was flexing, and Harry wanted to calm him but didn't know how. "I came out fine after the first task, this time'll be no different."

"Who's to say you weren't just lucky the first time?" Draco said, voice strangled.

"I wasn't!" Harry protested, even though he might have sort of been a bit lucky. He took Draco's hand and forced him to meet his eyes. "I will be _fine_. I promise, alright?"

A long stretch of a moment later Draco nodded once, and some of the stiffness left his shoulders.

"I don't think I'll ever be used to that," Pansy absently informed no one in particular.

Draco cut her a half smile.

`&`

It was Blaise who woke Harry up for the task in the morning. Harry was startled to find himself on the couch in the Slytherin common room. Last he could remember, he'd returned after dinner to spend a while longer with Draco before the morning of the task was upon them... and must have fallen asleep waiting for the blond to return. But why was Blaise waking him and not Draco himself?

"I don't know where he is," Blaise answered the silent question in his eyes, "but you've got to get going or you'll be late. And I'd imagine that'd be bad."

Harry shook off his puzzlement as the nervousness seemed to hit him all at once. He stood up—caring very little that he was still in yesterday's clothes—and went to fetch the gillyweed from where he and Draco had hidden it in the bathroom the evening before. When he came back out, Pansy, Vincent, and Greg had all joined Blaise.

"I need an escort?" Harry inquired politely.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "There's quite a bit of press out there you dolt. It wouldn't be on for us to allow you to be hounded."

Harry nodded, surprised and grateful, and followed his companions out.

 

Pansy had been right about the press, of course. Cameras were everywhere, and the sound of so many in the audience was perhaps even more deafening than it was the first time Harry had done this. He appreciated Greg and Vince keeping everyone at arm’s length, he was nervous enough without everyone clustering around him. But, inevitably, they all had to deposit him with the other champions and leave him alone.

"Good luck, love," Pansy said, giving a quick peck on the cheek. Blaise gripped his shoulder for a moment and then they all four walked away.

"All right, Harry?" Cedric asked from right next to him. He sounded downright excited, only the slightest bit of nerves evident in his voice.

Harry looked out across the water. "Yeah, I'm ready," he replied, clutching the gillyweed in his grip.

Next moment, Bagman's booming voice hit them. "It seems all the Champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. On three. One.... two.... three!"

The whistle blew, and Harry stuffed the gillyweed into his mouth and waded out into the lake.

He was grateful that Draco and Hermione had informed him in such detail what the gillyweed would do, or he might have been distressed to find himself with gills and unable to breathe above water. As it was, he slid below the surface and began to swim, sweet oxygen ever present in his lungs. For what felt a long while, he carried on like that, growing more and more conscious of the time as well as worried he would run out of it. Those concerns quickly became secondary, however, when something latched on painfully to his leg. The water was murky, but it was still easy enough to make out the demon-like grindylow. For a moment, he thrashed against the creature before making for his wand. He finally grabbed hold of it, two more grindylows having emerged and taken hold of him in the meantime.

" _Relashio!_ " he gurgled, and despite that the word only resulted in a large bubble and a muffled, incomprehensible noise, the spell somehow still worked, sending what seemed a jet of boiling water at the creatures, forcing them to release him. He swam away as quickly as possible, occasionally casting the same spell behind him just to be sure nothing would sneak up on him again. Maybe another five minutes had gone by before he heard it: singing.

 

_"An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took...."_

 

New determination overtook Harry, and he swam faster toward the music, soon coming upon a large rock in the muddy water ahead. It had paintings of various merpeople on it.

 

_"Your time's half gone, so tarry not,_

_Lest what you seek stays here to rot._ "

 

A knot of apprehension formed in his gut as he swam, passing the underwater dwellings and faces of the merfolk that bore little resemblance to the beautiful depictions of mermaids Harry had ever seen. These, instead, were broken-toothed and wild looking, many clutching crude weapons. Harry continued swimming, doing his best not to look at them. That was when he came upon a sort of underwater village square, clusters of merfolk surrounding a giant statue in the middle. And tied to the statue were four people.

Harry's eyes, of course, went to Draco first. He was tied up between Hermione and Cho Chang. The fourth person appeared to be a little girl, her skin and hair nearly as white as Draco's. She couldn't have been more than eight, and was obviously a Delacour. They each appeared to be in a very deep sleep, faces relaxed and heads lolling to the side. Streams of bubbles occasionally flowed from their mouths.

Harry swam immediately toward them, mildly surprised no merpeople went to attack him. The ropes tying the hostages were very thick and strong, and Harry wished momentarily for the knife Sirius had sent to him for Christmas, but wishing now was useless and wouldn't free his friends.

He tried asking one of the mermen for a spear, but that didn't go over well. Finally he dove for one of the jagged rocks at the lake's bottom, swam up and began hacking at the ropes holding Draco. What felt like an eon later, they came apart and Draco floated free. Harry looked around—there was no sign of any of the other champions, and he was at once worried and frustrated. The hour was nearly up—what if they never came for the other hostages? What if they ran out of time? The words he'd heard sung earlier came back to his mind: _Lest what you seek stays here to rot._ Like hell would he let that happen, Harry decided, and began his attempt to cut Hermione free.

Several pairs of webbed hands grabbed at him at once.

"You take your own hostage," one of them said. "Leave the others."

"No way!" Harry tried to say, but only bubbles issued from his mouth.

"Your task is to retrieve your own friend... leave the others," another one repeated.

"She's my friend too!" Harry waved his arm toward Hermione. More bubbles. "I don't want _them_ to die either!"

He struggled against the arms that held him away, but they only laughed at him. When Cedric suddenly appeared, a giant bubble around his head, Harry was immensely relieved.

"Got lost!" The Hufflepuff mouthed, looking rather panicked, and then proceeded to pull out a knife and cut at the ropes binding Cho. She came free a lot quicker than Harry was able to release Draco, and Cedric grabbed hold of her and began swimming away.

Harry looked around, waiting and growing more and more stricken about the time, when finally Krum appeared. Or, Harry had to assume it was Krum, since his head was now that of a medium sized shark. Transfiguration, Harry realized, but obviously not gone entirely according to plan. Looked to be getting the job done alright though, that was until he began to bite at Hermione's ropes with his teeth. Horrified that Krum would probably take off Hermione's head before managing to free her, Harry swam quickly toward him and gave him the sharp rock. Krum had Hermione free in seconds after that, and Harry watched with relief as the other boy swam away.

Still, Fleur's sister floated idly, having no idea that her older sibling was almost completely out of time and had yet to save her. _Enough_ , thought Harry. He snatched up the stone Krum had left behind and went towards the child, pointing his wand at the merpeople that tried to get in his way and making the threat clear. Amazingly, they actually backed off, and Harry set to releasing the girl. Clock ticking in his mind, he grabbed her about the waist, took hold of Draco's arm and began to swim toward the surface with all his might.

It was incredibly slow and taxing, and Harry felt he was barely making progress. His hands, he knew, were no longer webbed, meaning that the gillyweed had lasted nearly as long as it was going to. He kicked harder, feeling the webbing of his feet begin to disappear as well.

It was very difficult not to panic, but he knew Draco would want him to keep his head. He tried not to pay mind to the merpeople around him, or what they might do when his time was truly up. Still, he kicked and swam despite his burning lungs and exhausted limbs. Just when he thought he might black out, his head at last broke the surface.

The cheers were deafening, and he struggled to remain afloat as he gasped endlessly for air.

"Breathe Harry," Draco said, and a tension Harry hadn't realised had been in his shoulders seemed to relax a bit, even as his lungs still ached. There was a sniffle, the only sound to alert Harry that the little girl had also regained consciousness.

"Who's this?" Draco wondered aloud.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but there was no need. There was a scream of "Gabrielle!" from the shore, where Fleur could be seen wrapped in a blanket and looking relieved even from their distance. Draco shook his head in mock disbelief, obviously understanding the situation.

"Just help me with her," Harry said. "I don't think she can swim."

Draco sighed and they both brought the girl along to shore, where she promptly got her footing, gave a small shout and plowed into Fleur's waiting arms. Harry could hear Fleur explaining about being attacked by grindylows and being forced to turn back, but Harry chose to address Draco rolling his eyes at him instead.

"You didn't see what it was like down there. You were... comatose. You all were," he defended.

Draco's look said he was both exasperated and entertained. "You were scared then, of losing ickle old me?"

Harry gave him a challenging stare. "And if I was?"

Draco's eyes darted to Harry's lips for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Unfortunately, Hermione chose that moment to remind them there was more going on just then. She stood, shivering slightly with a blanket thrown around her. "You did it Harry," she exclaimed happily, teeth chattering.

And then the little girl was back, giving him a hug and telling him thank you. Fleur was waiting when her sister pulled away.

"You saved 'er. Even though she was not your 'ostage."

Harry nodded, and suddenly her lips were pressed against Harry's mouth. A second went by, then two before Fleur pulled away and smiled rather roguishly. It was obvious that she knew perfectly well Harry had felt nothing, and Harry realised that she hadn’t used any of the pull he knew her capable of. It was a gesture of thanks alone. Still, he couldn't quite believe she'd had no problem kissing him, had really kissed him right directly in front of his boyfriend. His boyfriend whose eyebrows had raised, one slightly higher than the other and had opened his mouth just so in genuine surprise. A glance at Hermione revealed a bit lip and sparkling eyes. Finally, he looked back at Fleur, who smiled gently now in true admiration before turning to head over to where the judges were conversing.

"You can rest assured," Harry said as soon as the girl was out of range, "as I think that proved I'm definitely gay."

Hermione burst out laughing, her whole frame shaking with the mirth she'd somehow been restraining. Draco smiled at that and grabbed hold of his collar, pulling Harry towards him and kissing him breathless.

"And don't forget it," he said smugly.

"Herm-own-ninny," Viktor called over to them before Harry could think of anything to say. "'Ze scores!"

Harry took Draco's hand and the three of them walked over, Hermione still grinning.

In the end, Harry was deemed having shown _moral fiber_ with his antics, which seemed to amuse Draco endlessly, and was thus tied for first place with Cedric. They were sent off with the assurance that the Champions would get the necessary information a month before the final task, followed by the order to go about as normal until then.

`&`

That night, in decidedly _abnormal_ fashion, Slytherin House threw a party in the dungeons. Or more like Pansy threw a party, and it seemed to Draco like half of Hogwarts showed up. He noticed Diggory and Krum around more than once, both of them clinging to Chang and Hermione practically the same way Harry was to Draco. Harry hadn't released Draco's hand all day since the task, claiming the memory of Draco's unconscious body tied to an underwater statue was still too fresh in his mind. Draco wasn't about to complain.

All Harry's friends from Gryffindor had come as well, congratulating him often and being considerably warmer than Draco knew most of them had been lately.

Pansy and Luna, whose relationship had recently progressed to becoming an official couple and was holding steadier than Draco could admit he expected, were nothing short of the life of the party. For once no one leered or acted as though this was any sort of problem.

Draco felt more relaxed than he had in a long while, and it was obvious Harry felt the same, as he had finally began to let loose. That was, until the Weasley clan made their entrance. Though it wasn't an _entrance_ really. The twins and their younger sister simply entered as everyone else had, noticing their friends—one of which being Luna—and wearing ever-present smiles. Harry only reacted when, not minutes later, Ron Weasley appeared as well. The hand around Draco's tightened a bit, the only sign of Harry's apprehension as the youngest male Weasley made his way directly over to them, looking nervous but determined.

He stopped, shuffled awkwardly. "Can we uh—can we talk?" he asked Harry.

Draco couldn't be certain what Harry would have said, but he made the decision for him. He pulled his hand from Harry's. "I'll leave you be for a while," he said, pecked Harry quickly on the lips and then walked swiftly away before he could do something stupid like glare at Weasley and be the root cause of another scene. Luckily he found himself a drink rather quickly, courtesy of Blaise.

`&`

Harry wasn't sure how to do this. It had been so long since he'd had a civil conversation with Ron, and he was still more than a little cross with him if he was to be completely honest.

"You wanted to talk?" Harry prodded.

"Yeah, I did. I do, I mean," Ron confirmed.

"What about?"

"They said—I mean I heard that they took the person you care about the most. For the task, earlier," said Ron.

Harry shrugged. "I guess. No one's told me that for sure."

"But... You really, er, care about him, yeah?"

"I love him, Ron."

Ron nodded slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I sort of figured that actually. Weird to hear you say it just like that though. Not bad weird!" He hurried to correct. "Just... weird."

Harry couldn't stop himself from cracking a smile. "Yeah I know."

"I'm sorry," Ron blurted out.

Harry blinked. "Really?"

"I... I've been a bloody arse. I know that now. And after this morning I—I needed to tell you I was sorry." He looked down at the floor. "I miss us being friends."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted nothing more than to be able to instantly forgive Ron, but this felt so familiar. "I miss it too, it's only that..."

"I made you choose," Ron finished for him.

"Yeah."

"I wouldn't do that again—I swear it this time."

Harry took in a deep breath and released it. His resolve seemed to disintegrate all at once, and he clapped Ron on the shoulder and smiled.

"Oh thank Merlin," Hermione's voice cut in from behind Harry. They both turned to face her, startled. She beamed at them. "I worried you'd never get over yourself," she told Ron.

"How've you been, 'Mione?”

She reached forward and pulled the redhead into a hug. "Happy," she answered. "And now especially."

"The trio back together?" Fred asked, he and George joining them.

"Not really a trio anymore," Hermione pointed out as Lavender Brown made her way to Ron’s arm. She turned back to Harry. "Speaking of, where _is_ your better half?"

Harry looked around, not able to spot that familiar head of blond hair anywhere he could see. "He went off to give us some space. I'm sure he'll find me later on."

Hermione smirked. "I'm sure he will."

The twins laughed. Ron wasn't laughing, but he wasn't scowling or grumbling or absent entirely, and for now that was enough.

`&`

Draco woke the next morning lying on top of Harry on the common room sofa. Even in his limited line of sight, there were various students still asleep on the floor. He pitied them, knowing they’d awake cold and sore and irritated that their fractionally more sober friends had left them unconscious overnight in Slytherin of all places. Draco was grateful he hadn’t had too much to drink.

He got up, careful not to jostle Harry, and went to wake the poor sods. Mostly it earned him grumbles and groans and sometimes protests, but they all eventually cleared out. All except for Weasley, who was slumped against the far wall and snoring. Harry had informed Draco around two in the morning that he and his once best friend had indeed begun to reconcile, and Draco had told himself to smile and be glad about it. But, in truth, he was still worried. Weasley had been the cause of Harry’s misery when he’d abandoned him not once, but twice this year. And Draco didn’t completely trust the boy not to do it again, no matter how much he wanted Harry to be happy.

“Weasley,” Draco hissed at the sleeping prat, who did not so much as twitch. “Weasley,” he tried again, “Weasley get up.” Draco nudged him with his foot a few times before giving up entirely and kicking him swiftly in the gut.

Finally the git stirred. “Ow,” he groaned, looking up at Draco and then blinking several times when he realized who it was that had woken him.

“We need to talk,” Draco said.

Weasley was on his feet in the next few moments, his body only slightly sluggish with lingering exhaustion. “Listen Malfoy—”

“No,” Draco interrupted, his voice low. “You listen. There’s always been bad blood between us, Weasley. Even before we’d ever spoken two words to each other. And since then the words have not been kind ones. I’m not going to apologise, you’re not going to apologise. No need to waste the breath on pretence.”

The red haired boy blinked, the only show of his agreement. “What’s this about then?”

“Harry.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m not trying to mark my territory or anything like that, so don’t give me that look. But you need to understand something. I love him, and if you start up toying with his loyalties one more time, I will slice you from your neck to your bits and feed your innards to Mrs. Norris. Got it?”

The other boy’s jaw clenched. “I already apologised to him for all of that.”

“I know that,” Draco snapped. “And he forgave you, because he’s Harry and he’ll forgive anyone for just about anything. I’m example enough of that. The point is that he shouldn’t have to _keep_ forgiving you. I’ll not allow you to make him feel lesser again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” Draco said curtly and turned to walk away.

“Hey Malfoy,” Weasley said after a few steps and Draco faced him again, eyebrow raised.

“Erm, did you really always, uh—you know...?”

 _Eloquent as ever,_ Draco thought. But he said “I didn’t go about things very well, clearly, but yes, I’ve always wanted him this way. Whether you believe it or not makes no difference to me.” He put his back to the redhead once more and returned to where Harry slept on, oblivious. Draco registered the sound of Weasley leaving a moment later and bent down to kiss Harry’s slightly parted lips.

Brilliant green eyes fluttered open and a lazy smile appeared. “‘Time is it?”

“Time to get up.”

“Hm. Not quite,” Harry replied and pulled Draco back down on top of him. Their lips met again and Draco decided that the world could wait just a bit longer.

`&`

Sirius’s next response finally came attached to a rather traumatised-looking owl the Friday following the task, and it was nearly as short as the previous one.

 

_Be at stile at end of end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can._

 

While Harry, Hermione and Ron concerned themselves over Sirius’s safety, Draco appeared to be concerned over each of their own safety, despite reassurances that Sirius wasn’t in any way dangerous. Harry supposed that Draco would simply have to see for himself before he would relax.

Snape had also chosen Friday to confront Harry about the stolen gillyweed—in the middle of potions no less. But Draco had been right, there was no proof. All Snape could do was dish out empty threats about truth-potion in an attempt to get him to lose his temper. Draco had merely placed a hand on Harry’s leg and calmly asked Snape if he was near-finished, as he was _disrupting their education._ Snape had glared at his godson, but walked away none the less.

Far more interesting was what had happened after, when Karkaroff had entered the classroom and insisted that he and Snape talk. As it ended up, Karkaroff hovered over Snape for the rest of the lesson, until he finally dismissed them. Harry and Draco silently agreed that Draco would stay behind and eavesdrop, and so Harry left the room along with the others.

Later, Draco would tell him what he’d overheard and, thanks to growing up a Malfoy, what it meant. Harry, Hermione and Ron would all agree that the Dark Mark was something they’d have to discuss with Sirius tomorrow. And, with only a sight grimace, Draco would concede.

`&`

At noon the next day, the group of four left the castle with plenty of food. They walked through Hogsmeade for a while before they set off on the path Sirius had directed. Finally, they turned a corner and saw a stile at the end of the lane. Waiting for them, its front paws on the topmost bar, was a very large, shaggy black dog, carrying newspapers in its mouth and looking very familiar.

“Is that…” Draco began but stopped, obviously realising the uselessness of the question.

Harry couldn’t help his smile and walked forward. “Hello, Sirius,” he said when they had all reached the large dog. The dog then turned, and the four of them followed it up, towards and into a dimly lit cave near the very foot of the mountain. Sirius had turned into a man again by the time the four had greeted Buckbeak—Draco with fear and shame, but without injury—and then entered.

Sirius looked awful, incredibly thin in the same clothes they’d last seen him. “Chicken!” he said, voice hoarse.

Harry handed over the bundle of food.

“Thanks,” said Sirius, sitting down and tearing off a large piece of chicken with his teeth. “I’ve been living off rats mostly. Can’t steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I’d draw attention to myself.”

He grinned up at Harry, but Harry returned the grin only reluctantly. “What’re you doing here, Sirius?” he asked.

“Fulfilling my duty as godfather,” said Sirius, gnawing on the chicken bone. His eyes flickered past Harry and landed on Draco where he still stood near the cave entrance. “I thought you might bring him along.”

Harry bit his lip. “Is that er—is that alright with you?”

Sirius looked up from his food again at that. “What? Oh, of course! He’s still your boyfriend isn’t he? If you trust him then I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

Harry blinked. “Y-yeah. I just wasn’t, uh, sure that you would be okay with me being er—”

“Not everyone’s been so kind about it,” Hermione informed Sirius.

Realisation seemed to dawn on Harry’s godfather all at once. “Oh! You thought I would be upset that you prefer blokes?”

Harry could only shrug, kicking lightly against the gravel below him.

“That’s the last thing that would change how highly I think of you my boy. Merlin, I chased pants a fair amount myself, surely past the point of judging others. Much less family.” Sirius assured him with a wholehearted laugh that brought out Harry’s relaxed grin once more. Sirius glanced at Draco then. “And I’m not going to bite anyone, no need to look so pale.”

“I always look pale,” Draco defended. Then, seeming to replay his words, snapped his jaw shut.

Sirius let out another bark of laughter. “Of course, you’re Narcissa’s son after all.”

Draco gave a half smile at that. “I’m still not totally convinced you aren’t dangerous,” admitted the blond.

Ron rolled his eyes. “We’ve told him you’re harmless but he won’t accept it.”

Sirius slapped his free hand to his chest dramatically. “Harmless? I’m wounded. I’ll have you know that I’m still a very capable wizard.”

“Of course you are, Sirius,” Hermione said. “We didn’t mean it like—”

Sirius cut her off with another laugh. “Only having a bit of fun, I do understand. I assure you Mr. Malfoy, I’m no mad criminal.”

“You’re a bit mad to of come here, though,” Harry pointed out worryingly. “You could be caught.”

Sirius sighed. “I wanted to be on the spot. Your last letter... well, let’s just say things are getting fishier.”

For the next half hour or so, the five of them discussed everything they knew about Bartemius Crouch, his history and connection to the Death Eaters as well as all that had happened so far this year. When Ron mentioned Lucius Malfoy—looking surprisingly apologetic about it—Draco admitted that his father had been among those masked at the World Cup, which Harry had all but been sure of already. Draco didn’t know for sure who had sent up the Dark Mark though, only that the Marks on the Death Eaters were solidifying again. But Draco hadn’t had any real contact with his father since December, so he had no way of knowing what was going on on that side anymore. His guess work, though, seemed to be incredibly helpful to Sirius, despite Draco’s insistence that Snape was likely on the right side of things.

After all the information they had to share was exhausted, Sirius rubbed his eyes. “What’s the time?”

“It’s half past three,” said Hermione.

“You lot had best get back to school,” Sirius said, getting to his feet. “Now listen...” He looked particularly hard at Harry. “I don’t want any of you sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you’re not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you.”

“No one’s tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a few grindylows,” Harry said. That earned him a scowl from both Sirius and Draco.

“I don’t care,” Sirius replied. “I’ll breathe freely again when this tournament’s over, and that’s not until June.”

“You and me both,” said Draco, surprised at earning a genuine grin from Sirius.

Harry just rolled his eyes and nodded. They said their goodbyes after that and headed back to school, theorising about all they’d learned the whole way.

 


	3. Chapter 3

With the third task approaching in just days over a week, Harry had found far more comfort sleeping alongside Draco in the cool dungeons than ever before. Being with Draco at night helped keep the horrid nightmares of mazes and Death Eaters and warnings of Voldemort’s growing strength at bay, replacing it all instead with warm fantasies of green ties and slow dancing, the scent of vanilla mint and ice lingering in his dreams.

Time easily got ahead of Harry lately, as he spent the majority of his days practicing defence magic for the upcoming task as directed, and his evenings surrounded by friends in the Slytherin dungeon until he eventually followed Draco to sleep. Harry wouldn’t say he’d gotten _used to it,_ exactly. It was more that sharing each other’s lives had just become a natural sort of thing during the past few months, even amidst all the fear and worrisome goings on. So if, say, someone came into Draco’s dorm room and was met with the two of them cuddled together in the same bed, it was doubtful there was anyone left who would even so much as blink.

Unless, of course, they were naked.

Harry stopped that train of thought immediately. For all the innuendo and shameless talk, he knew neither of them would be quite ready for _that_ for some time. Cuddling, though, that was nice. Kissing—that was even better. But somehow it was in _talking_ to Draco that he found a contentment he’d of never imagined could be had. Telling Draco anything he was thinking at any given time and knowing no judgement would come as a result, that was something unexpectedly gratifying. They’d been together well over five months now, and Draco knew nearly everything about Harry. His reaction to the dementors as well as the incredible pain he felt in his scar at times—the latter of which Draco had the misfortune of witnessing first hand recently, in class no less—being a few examples.

Harry’d even spontaneously divulged at Draco’s birthday party a few weeks back—in front of quite the audience since it seemed that nearly all of Hogwarts had shown up to celebrate the once despised “Prince of Slytherin”—that the sorting hat had wanted to place Harry himself in Slytherin. Draco had a field day with the fact that he’d refused, which Harry had found incredibly endearing.

“What’s that look?” the blond in question asked, breaking Harry from his reminiscing. He was playing idly with the fingers of Harry’s left hand.

“Hm?”

Draco smiled softly, and it lit him up as it always did. “You’re staring at me,” he explained.

“Aren’t I always?”

The Slytherin chuckled softly, his smile widening a bit as if to say _fair enough_. “Tell me something about you that I don’t know yet,” he said.

Harry raised an eyebrow before he could stop himself. That had been a very _Draco_ thing to do, and Draco clearly thought so too if the amusement in his slate eyes was any indication. He didn’t comment, though, only waited.

“What, like anything?” Harry wondered.

“Anything.”

It must have been their surroundings that brought the random fact to Harry’s mind. “The first time I talked to a snake, we bonded over our mutual dislike of my cousin.”

Draco huffed a small laugh. “Interesting. I take it you don’t get along then?”

The last thing Harry wanted to talk about at the moment was Dudley Dursley. He mentally cursed himself for bringing the piglet of a boy up. He hadn’t considered that Draco would ask questions, which was unbelievably dim in retrospect. “You could say that.”

The Slytherin’s smile lessened. “You never talk about your family,” he said as though it’d only just then occurred to him.

“Not as if you like to talk about yours,” Harry deflected.

“That’s different,” Draco insisted. He’d dropped Harry’s hand, and his fingers felt cold at the loss. “You know everything about my parents. All I know for certain about your family is that they’re muggles.”

Harry made a noncommittal noise, hoping that Draco would let the topic drop. But he had no such luck.

“Come on,” insisted the blond. “At least tell me why you don’t like your cousin.”

The Gryffindor let out a long, exasperated breath. “Because he hates me, alright? I don’t talk about them because they hate me.” _Now please let’s talk about something else_ , he added silently.

Draco’s pale brows drew together. “Why do you think they hate you?”

“Might have something to do with how I slept in a cupboard for the better part of ten years,” he snapped all at once. An instant later he was already regretting the words.

“You slept... in a _cupboard_?”

Harry sat against the headboard and rubbed underneath his glasses. They were new, and improved his vision much better than his old ones. Both Draco and Pansy had insisted, though he’d not budged on keeping the rounded shape he’d been accustomed to. Sometimes, though, they still felt a bit strange. “Under the stairs,” he confirmed. “It was my room.”

“Your room.”

The green eyed boy sighed. “Yes Draco, like where your bed goes. You can stop repeating everything I say.”

“I just don’t... understand. They’re your family.”

Harry’s gut twisted a bit at the statement. Draco was having a difficult time with his father as of late, but up until fairly recently he’d always been doted on. Adored and given everything he’d asked for, even. Of course he couldn’t understand why Harry’s own blood would hate him. Still, even knowing this, Harry’s words came out slightly sharper than he’d intended at first. “No. They’re my relatives. Family doesn’t do... what they do,” he finished a bit lamely.

When he looked up at Draco again, his grey eyes were hard metal. “What else have they done to you?”

His voice was low, dangerous. Harry thought back on his words, quickly realising what the blond must of heard in them. “Hey, don’t. I’m perfectly fine.”

Draco, though, was still clearly waiting for an answer. Harry had to at least try to reassure him, but he knew sugar coating wouldn’t solve anything, so he resigned himself. “Sometimes I have to... go without. Mostly it’s just housework and insults, though. A few really big lies,” he admitted, “but Hagrid told me the truth when he met me. And I’m here now, so everything’s alright.”

Steel eyes flashed. “Everything’s not bloody alright. What didn’t you know? What did they keep from you?” Draco demanded to know.

Harry sighed heavily. “That I’m a wizard,” he ticked off. “That Voldemort killed my parents. That he tried to kill me and died instead. Which with the exception of the first I probably could have lived without knowing, so it may have been sort of a g–”

“Don’t even _think_ about saying ‘good thing,’” Draco warned.

Harry rubbed his eyes then, suddenly very tired of it all. “None of it matters anymore,” he told the blond. “I know everything I need to know and I’m where I want to be.”

“For now.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“You mean you’re where you want to be _for now._ What about the summer Harry? What then?”

The Gryffindor glanced at the heavens for a moment before meeting his boyfriend’s eyes again. “I’ve survived the summers so far.”

Draco shook his head back and forth, really only the smallest movement. “Oh Merlin,” he breathed. “I really brushed it off as my imagination.”

“What are you on about?”

“You!” Draco shouted suddenly, startling Harry just a little. “I noticed, dammit. Every September you’d always come back just a bit too thin. Dark circles—gods. I noticed. And I made _fun_ of your oversized clothes. And I said things about—”

“Stop,” Harry said. “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you a million times if I need to: we weren’t _us_ back then. And either way there’s nothing you could’ve done. There’s nothing you can do _now._ I’ll not have you beating yourself up about this.”

Draco swallowed. “Did they ever beat _you_ up?”

The question was so quiet that Harry’s heart clenched. “No,” he said firmly. “Dudley knocked me about when we were kids and he was still capable of catching me. And my uncle will be... my uncle sometimes. But it’s nothing like what you’re clearly thinking, alright? They wouldn’t dare. I know I’ve got magic now, and if there’s one thing they’re afraid of it’s magic.”

“Is that actually supposed to make me feel _better_?” Draco asked after a moment, sounding incredulous.

Harry blinked. “Well, yeah.”

“It doesn’t!” He hollered. “You’re—you can’t go back there! You can’t just live like that. Who the rutting hell let this happen in the first place?”

It took Harry a few moments longer than he should have to think of what to say. “Let what happen?”

“Someone gave you to them!” Draco said angrily, his eyes shimmering as if he were forcing back tears. “Let them treat you like a bloody house elf your entire life!”

“Where else was I supposed to go?”

“Anywhere!” yelled the blond. “You could have gone anywhere! The entire wizarding world would’ve given the skin off their backs to raise you after what you did! Instead you got dropped with those wretches who—gods Harry. You slept in a bleeding cupboard!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Harry told him after a minute. “I don’t understand why you’re cross with me.”

Draco started. “Cross with—what? No. Oh gods. Do you really think you’re what’s upsetting me right now?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, unsure how to reply.

“You’re unbelievable,” Draco informed him. “I’m not cross with you, you git. I love you. I’m worried about you.”

“Oh.”

“Merlin,” Draco sighed. “Just—damn it all. Come here.”

Harry sunk downwards, back once again resting against the mattress. Draco laid down next to him on his side, rather like how they’d been before Harry had dumbly brought up his first and only trip to the zoo. Only now Draco laid a hand on Harry’s cheek and turned his head to the side, their eyes forced to meet.

Their faces were close enough for their breath to mingle, and Draco only had to shift forward a fraction to bring his lips to Harry’s. The kiss started off slow and deep, saying everything the blond hadn’t said the way he’d clearly wanted to. With Draco’s lips gentle so insistent his, Harry could practically hear the words. _I love you. I want you to be safe, I want to protect you for once._

Harry knew they couldn’t solve everything like this, but damn if it didn’t feel fantastic to try. He couldn’t be sure when Draco had rolled completely on top of him on his own, or maybe he’d pulled the blond flush against him, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was how good Draco’s body felt against his. His right hand twined with Harry’s left, the beginnings of what would soon be impressive Quidditch abs against his own chest, the hardening length of—oh.

 _Oh_.

They both seemed to notice at the same time, breaking apart in the next moment. Draco’s face was flushed Harry’s favourite sort of pink, the pupils still blown and grey retreated to the outer ring. Harry knew he was in virtually the same state, half-hard cock and all. Apparently neither of them knew what to say. Draco ran a hand through his hair and gripped a bit before releasing it. Harry had had plenty of time to note it as a habit of frustration or nervousness.

“It’s okay,” he said breathlessly. “We have loads of time. Some point in the future when we’re... ready.”

The Slytherin nodded, breathing out in relief. He shook his head, then, as though clearing it. “You’re not going back.”

“Draco—”

“I mean it. We’ll have to figure it out. If they can find somewhere to hide me away from my dad then they can surely find somewhere for you. Alright?”

It was the desperation in Draco’s nearly-black eyes that did him in. “Alright.”

The resulting smile was like the sunrise, and the following kiss was even better.

But as they made their way to the end of the school year, Harry knew there was no avoiding the daunting thoughts of the task to come. He was more than aware that his future with Draco could come to an end all too quickly if he wasn’t careful enough.

`&`

Narcissa Malfoy stood, unmoving, as she stared at her husband with blatant disgust. “Harry Potter will die,” she repeated, incredulous that Lucius then had the audacity to nod.

“This is what we’ve been working for Cissa,” he told her with horrible excitement. “The Dark Lord will return, and once he rises to power we will stand by his side. Our family name will once again command the respect we’ve been denied for years.”

“And _Harry Potter will be dead!”_ she screeched, the calm she’d held to the past fifteen minutes snapping completely.

Lucius’s eyebrows crinkled in anger and confusion. “Of course the boy will have to die, you must see that the Dark Lord will not stand for him to live.”

“Are you so blinded by hatred and the promise of power that you would choose it over your own family?” Narcissa demanded coldly.

Lucius only stared at her. “What does our family care for Harry Potter?”

“You— _Our_ _son_ is in love with him!” she hollered. “Are you truly so despicable that you would destroy our only son in this way? That you would choose something fickle as status over your own flesh and blood?!”

Lucius’s features darkened, his lip curling back. “Draco is a young boy,” the man spit. “He is incapable of understanding something like love. He will lose Potter and he will mourn, but then he will realize that he was an enamoured fool and he will once again be our son.”

Narcissa took a single step forward. “He is, has always been, and always will be _my_ son,” she hissed. “And he has loved Harry Potter in some way or the other since he stepped foot in that robe shop, you cannot act as though you don’t know it as well as I with how he spoke. If you gave a damn about your son, Lucius, your _family,_ you would not allow this to happen.”

She turned away from her husband then, off in the direction of the study, but halted in her tracks when Lucius said, “Your beloved son. Even when he has not contacted you in months?”

She turned to face him again slowly, eyes slitted. “What does that have to do with—” she broke off. Her eyes widened at the same moment comprehension occurred. “ _You..._ ”

Lucius, likely realising his mistake, remained carefully blank. “Pardon?”

Narcissa Malfoy crossed the floor in a flash and slapped her husband across the face. “Don’t you dare lie to me you _bastard!_ Keeping my child from me?! You’re a disgrace to have stooped so low!” She spat at him with the full force of her rage.

“You are the reason our son has never learned to control himself,” he said, calmly wiping saliva from his face.

“There was a time you loved that about me,” said Narcissa, angry and hollow at once. “A time that you loved me at all.”

The man’s face softened a fraction, as though he could not help it. “I’ve always loved you Cissa,” he attempted to assure her.

“If you loved me, if you loved our _son_ , you would not choose that monster. You would choose us,” she said as she walked away from Lucius Malfoy.

`&`

“Malfoy.”

It was more than the tone of Weasley’s voice that made Draco look at him. They’d both been listening to one of Hermione’s oddly humourous stories about dentists, and it was unlike Weasley to interrupt the Gryffindor girl when she chose to eat with them. When Draco did look at the freckled boy, however, his eyes were not fixed on the blond but rather to their right. Ah, Draco noticed, the owls.

“It’s mail,” Draco told him. “Comes every day.”

“Not for you.”

Draco’s smile dropped entirely now, a scowl forming. Weasley hadn’t been a prat in a while, there was no reason to be now. “Yes, how lovely of you to rub it in.”

“No, you tosser,” the other boy said with a roll of the eyes. “Isn’t that your owl coming towards us?”

Draco’s head whipped back just in time to watch his family owl swoop down and place a letter in front of him. Draco blinked at the bird dumbly. “Pyxis?”

This didn’t make any sense, he thought. He hadn’t been able to hear from his mum in ages—not even for his birthday.

“Draco,” Hermione said. “The letter.”

The blond blinked again and shook his head slightly, picking up the envelope. “Right, yes.”

Pyxis helped himself to Draco’s breakfast as the Slytherin tore it open. Vaguely he registered parting his lips in shock.

 

_Dearest Dragon,_

 

_As I’m sure you know, I had no idea that you’d not been receiving my letters. We have so very much to catch up on, as I’ve missed you dearly. This, however, is not the time, as there are, unfortunately, far more pressing matters at hand. Harry Potter’s life is in great jeopardy. I will explain further in person, as it is absolutely imperative that your father and I meet with Dumbledore and his trusted company—Severus specifically—as soon as you could discreetly arrange. I understand that you may be wary of your father’s involvement, but I assure you both he and myself will be necessary if there is hope of preventing Harry’s demise. I love you Draco, I hope to see you soon._

 

_Narcissa Black Malfoy._

 

“Helloooooo. Earth to Draco?”

Draco blinked, his surroundings coming back into focus as he looked up at Hermione. She eyed him worriedly.

“Everything alright?” she asked slowly. “Who’s it from?”

“What’s it say?” Weasley added in a tone that Draco thought sounded rather like concern.

The Slytherin swallowed. “It’s um... it’s from my mum. She said—I need to go find Harry.”

“You’re in luck,” Harry said, plopping down next to him before Draco had even moved, causing the blond to startle so violently that he tipped over his abandoned juice.

“Where did you come from?”

Harry’s expression morphed from amusement to concern in the space of a blink. “Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is something wrong?”

The Slytherin opened his mouth, but Weasley beat him to it. “He got a letter from his mum.”

Emerald eyes widened and settled back on Draco. “You did? That’s great! What’d she say?”

Again Draco tried to reply, but didn’t do so in time. “Something about you, seemed like,” Hermione answered.

“Me?”

Draco sighed and handed his boyfriend the letter. Moments later, Harry gave it back and ran a hand through his untameable-looking hair.

“Will someone _please_ inform us what’s going on?” Hermione said, apparently out of patience.

Harry loosed a breath. “Apparently we’ve got to go see Dumbledore.”

`&`

Draco had never been particularly comfortable around Albus Dumbledore. The old man looked at him like he knew every awful thing Draco had ever said or done. Not to mention that Dumbledore was also one of the most powerful wizards to ever live, respected and valued by nearly everyone. It could all be incredibly intimidating. At the moment, though, the old wizard in question was only sitting silently as the near rest of the room’s occupants whispered to each other and kept at least one eye on the fireplace.

Eventually Dumbledore stood up and Snape and McGonagall ceased their private conversation.

“Lucius and Narcissa should arrive in just a moment now.”

Draco pretended not to notice when Hermione shot him a last look of concern. He could handle seeing his father if it meant Harry would be safe again.

The next minute, Draco’s parents were stepping out of the fireplace. There was a silent, stretched out moment in which everyone eyed each other. Or, a moment in which Draco looked at anyone besides his father.

“We were quite relieved to hear from you so quickly, Albus,” Draco’s mother said with a practiced smile.

“Narcissa,” Dumbledore replied, perfectly polite. “I do wish it were under better circumstances.”

“How exactly is my life in danger?” Harry blurted from where he stood next to Draco. They’d been waiting for his parents to show for nearly ten minutes, Draco didn’t blame Harry for wanting answers. He wanted the same, only he’d had it drilled into him to never interrupt when the adults—meaning his parents and any other _respectable wizard_ Lucius deigned to speak to—were conversing.

Draco’s mum turned to Harry then, her eyes soft but concerned. “The Dark Lord, dear. I am so very sorry.”

“You-Know-Who’s returned then?” Weasley asked.  

“He will.”

“How do you know?” That was Hermione questioning.

It was Draco’s father that spoke. “How is none of your concern,” he paused as his wife’s elbow met his ribs with a stern look. He continued smoothly, though, as if nothing had happened. “What is important is when, which will be during Potter’s final task.”

“Unless we stop it, right?” Harry said. Lucius Malfoy’s eyes turned to him and remained there. Draco imagined he could have reached out and felt the animosity between the two.

“I will have to insist that the adults handle the situation this time, Potter. Children have no place in this,” Draco’s dad said finally.

 _If that goes over quietly, I’ll eat my Potions homework,_ Draco thought bitterly.

“You said during the third task. I’m still a Champion,” Harry argued, as expected. He had actually raised a good point though, not that Draco would ever say so.

McGonagall stepped forward and rested her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “The Tournament cannot go ahead as planned Mr. Potter. It will have to be postponed or cancelled.”

“Unfortunately,” said Draco’s father, “if the Tournament is altered, it is more than likely that the Dark Lord’s plans against Mr. Potter will be as well.”

“Lucius is correct,” Snape said after a moment. “With the Tournament in play, there is a clear time-table to work with. Without it the Dark Lord may become... unpredictable. Potter could potentially be at even greater risk.”

“He can’t be expected to compete like nothing is wrong!” Hermione protested. “That’d be grossly unfair and not to mention completely dangerous!”

“Miss Granger is right, Albus,” said McGonagall. “We have no means of knowing the nature of Voldemort’s plan. I have to insist that Potter be kept as far away as possible.”  

“And I have to insist that that would be counterproductive,” Snape fired back.

“Do you have an alternative?” McGonagall tactfully inquired.

“Perhaps you could have extra Aurors on hand, watching for anything that may happen,” suggested Draco’s mum. “Tell the audience they’re for the Champion’s security. When the Dark Lord does somehow attack, they could intervene.”

“They’ll need more protection than just whatever handful of Aurors you can scrounge together standing on the sidelines,” Draco refuted. “I mean, can you even see into the maze if you aren’t a Champion?”

Draco had no way of knowing what the reply would have been, as Hermione chose that moment to suddenly shout, “Polyjuice!”

The room turned to look at her simultaneously as she flushed. “Sorry,” she said. “I only thought that perhaps Mrs. Malfoy was on track about the Aurors. Except, what if instead of sitting on the sidelines and hoping, they actually, er, went in?”

“You are suggesting that Aurors replace the Champions,” Snape clarified.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, sir. They could take Polyjuice potion. No one who isn’t involved would know. And trained Aurors would be far more equipped to take on You-Know-Who.”

Snape turned to Dumbledore in the next second. “Do you believe Rufus would agree to this?”

Hermione didn’t say another word, but Draco could tell she was extremely pleased to have been taken seriously. He was rather proud of her, especially if this kept Harry out of danger.

Unfortunately, it was like Harry had somehow heard his thoughts. “Wait,” he said, and Draco resisted the urge to kick him. “I don’t want people risking their lives for me while I just sit and hide somewhere.”

“Merlin, is it too much to ask that you just put yourself first for once?!” Draco demanded, wincing at the hurt so plain in his voice.

Harry finally looked at him, his mouth opening like he meant to reply but producing no sound. Finally, he swallowed. “I need to be a part of this. It needs to be me.”

“Thankfully it’s not up to you,” Draco told him with a shake of his head, and then turned to fix every adult in the room with a look of ice. “You’ll _not_ let him.”

It certainly hadn’t been a question.

“He’s right, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said. “These will be professionals, trained to take on dark wizards. We are trying to keep you safe.”

“Does Mr. Potter not have the right to decide whether to fight for himself?” Lucius interjected, staring at Harry oddly.

Draco glanced at Dumbledore, praying that the old wizard wouldn’t actually consider the question. It seemed the opposite was true, as he actually looked somewhat angered. But Harry had already latched on.

“I deserve to see this through,” he said. “Polyjuice everyone else. I don’t think that the others should still be put in danger, but I should be there.”

Draco, helpless, turned from him and left the office abruptly, ignoring Harry’s voice calling him back.

He was in the hall a few minutes later when the statue moved aside again to let someone else out. There wasn’t time to even guess who it would be before his father was looking down at him.

Draco’s back straightened, tense. There was no telling how this would go, and there was no one around to save him from the moment.

“I wanted to speak with you,” Lucius said.

 _Clearly,_ thought Draco. Instead, he only nodded.

“You were fairly silent in there,” his father observed.

 _Gee I wonder why that is._ “I guess.”

“I do not hate you, Draco.”

There was absolutely no hope of Draco holding back the following laugh. “Do you want a thank you or something?”

Lucius’s jaw flexed. “I am simply trying to... improve things between us.”  

“And here I was thinking I’d soon be disowned.”

The older Malfoy glanced away; Draco thought he must have imagined the flash of regret on his father’s face.

“I would never disown you, Draco,” he finally said, meeting his son’s eyes again.

“Even though I’m a shirtlifting blood-traitor?” Draco deadpanned.

Lucius scowled. “Must you always be so difficult?” When Draco didn’t bother to reply, his father spoke the next words through gritted teeth. “Yes, even though you’re a... shirtlifter.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “But you’ve not gotten past the blood-traitor thing yet.”

“That doesn’t matter,” his father waved him off. “If all goes correctly, we’ll practically be heroes.”

“Of course. Should’ve known there was an agenda.” _Why would you bother to save Harry just because I love him? That wouldn’t be like you at all,_ he mentally griped.

“The only reason I am here is because of your... _interest_ in that boy, make no mistake,” the older Malfoy bit out.

“Right well, I think I’ve had my fill of this conversation,” said Draco at that. “Thanks for letting me know I can keep my name I guess.”

Lucius looked like he had something else he planned to say, but just then the statue swung aside again. Weasley, Hermione and Harry all came out.

Draco’s father passed the three of them, silently going back inside. Draco, however, turned and began a quick walk in the opposite direction. He didn’t want to see Harry just yet, betrayal still curling in his stomach.

He, of course, didn’t actually make it very far before the three caught up to him.

“Scrimgeour showed up,” Hermione told him, clinging onto his arm. He resigned himself and slowed his pace as she spoke. “Your mum convinced him to let the Aurors help. He agreed to use Polyjuice and everything just like I said.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s excitement. “That’s great, Hermione.”

“They’re letting this tosser be there too,” Weasley informed him, waving his arm at Harry.

Draco’s smile dropped. He didn’t bother to reply.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Hermione said.

The blond’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “How so?”

“They’re making me Polyjuice as some Auror, the one who’ll be Polyjuiced as me,” Harry finally answered for himself. “I only get to show up after Voldemort makes a move.”

Draco nodded curtly, trying not to show how relieved he was at the news. It was better than what he’d been imagining, but he didn’t want Harry thinking that meant it was alright.

“Everyone agreed that no one outside of the room and the chosen Aurors should know. So we can’t tell anyone,” said Weasley.

“Then maybe you should, I don’t know, stop talking about it?” Draco asked sarcastically.

The other three glanced at each other, as if open discussion had never been a second thought to cross their minds. Draco sighed and continued walking; they had classes to interrupt.

`&`

“You’re still not speaking to me then?” Harry asked quietly from the entry way later that evening. Blaise’s curtains immediately closed with a flick of his wand. The only other person in their room was Greg, and based on his lack of reaction Harry guessed he already had a silencing charm around him.

“Want me to go sleep in Gryffindor?” he tried again.

Nothing.

Harry sighed and walked over to Draco’s bed, sitting down on the edge. “Well too bad, I’m not gonna do that.”

He stared intently at the blond, using all his willpower to get him to look up. No such thing happened. Harry huffed. “Draco, can you at least look at me?”

Several seconds went by in which that did not happen. Fed up, Harry decided to just start talking. Draco couldn’t ignore him forever, after all.

“Fine,” he started, “but I’m not going anywhere. I’ve things to say and you seem alright to listen. Look. I understand that you’re angry about the task, but I didn’t have a choice. How am I supposed to just let people potentially die in my place? It wouldn’t be... I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if—”

He never got to finish that sentence, however, because Draco had apparently had enough of listening.

“So I’m just supposed to be perfectly fine if I end up living without _you_ then?!” he demanded, causing Harry to flinch. “How dare you! You bloody know how much I love you! I don’t matter to you more than random Aurors you’ve not even met?! I can’t—I mean how am I supposed to—you promised me!”

The blond took in a great breath, then went still. Stormy grey eyes bored into green for several long moments before Harry got his wits back about him.

“That’s not—of course I care about you more than them. What kind of a question is that?”

“ _I. Cannot. Live. Without. You,_ ” Draco stressed each word as though they were separate statements. “I’m—I wouldn’t even know who I am without you anymore. And you’re just completely alright delivering yourself to the monster whose life mission is to kill you because _Merlin forbid_ you let anyone protect you! You care more about being the goddamned Boy Hero than you care about me, or you wouldn’t of even _thought_ of sticking your neck out like this.”

And then he went right back to staring at the textbook in his lap as though he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Draco—”

“Get out, alright?” the blond said, still not looking at him. “You want to be a self sacrificing Gryffindor you can go be one. Away from me.”

He seemed to drag in a broken breath that sent something that felt like razor blades cutting into Harry’s chest. He didn’t move though, not until Draco suddenly looked up and shouted, “Go!”

And Harry did.

`&`

Blaise’s curtains had opened approximately twenty seconds after Harry had left the room. Draco wished he was a bit more surprised.

“Wow mate,” Blaise said. “That was harsh.”

“Shut up,” Draco snarled.

“He’s right though,” Greg told him as he turned around.

“Bloody hell, this is not a soap drama. I didn’t ask for your _input_ ,” Draco hissed at them both.

Blaise held up his hands, but only Greg looked properly chastised. Draco sighed.

“I just can’t look at him right now, alright?” he said. “I just can’t.”

And then, all at once, he was crying. Like a bloody _girl_. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be able to stop.

A minute later arms came around him and he jumped at the unexpected contact. Since when did Blaise hug him? But when he opened his eyes, he understood. Pansy held onto him tightly, though where she came from Draco had no idea. He could see Blaise over her shoulder, back on his bed and pretending to be deaf like any good friend should.

Later, when the embarrassing tears had dried on his face and he lay with his head in Pansy’s lap, he realized that his friends probably had no idea what he and Harry were fighting about. Blaise and Greg had clearly heard enough to put it all together, but they couldn’t know all the specifics. And Pansy had to know less than nothing. Yet they’d been here for him anyway. He thought of Harry—not that he’d stopped—and hoped, despite his hurt and anger, that Hermione and Weasley were doing the same.

`&`

“Harry!” Ron called as soon as he’d come into the common room. Then his brows furrowed in confusion. “What’re you doing here, mate?”

The last thing Harry wanted to discuss was the row he’d just had with Draco. He held up his hand against any questions and headed toward his room. Seamus looked up when he came in, and Harry pretended not to notice his surprise. He simply went over to the bed he’d not slept in for weeks and closed his curtains.

Not minutes later, they were pulled back. “Harry what’s—” Hermione broke off when she caught his expression. “Oh.”

She sat down beside him a second later. “He’ll forgive you eventually, you know. He’s only afraid.”

“Doesn’t make it suck any less,” he said into his pillow.

Hermione seemed to understand despite his muffled voice. “I know.”

`&`

The remainder of the week was absolute hell. Draco gave new meaning to the phrase _cold shoulder._ The only time he even acknowledged Harry’s existence was during Potions class, where he had no choice. And even then it was just lifeless orders about how to cut some ingredient or stir correctly. People pretended not to watch them, but Harry could feel their curious stares on his back almost constantly. Everyone wanted to know what had gone wrong between them, though it seemed the majority of the school had gathered that it was Harry’s fault. Harry’d overheard as much in the library on Tuesday.

_“Oh it was totally Potter.”_

_“How can you be sure?”_

_“You can just tell, the way Malfoy looks like he wants to go off or cry all the time. Potter just looks guilty. It was obviously something he did.”_

Harry shook his head sharply to clear the memory, but it still stung. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He didn’t care about being a hero or anything that Draco had accused him of. He was pretty sure Draco didn’t actually believe any of it either—at least he hoped he didn’t—but he also understood why he’d said what he said.

All Harry really wanted now was for Draco to look at him again. Not just a glance or anything like he did when required. No, Harry wanted Draco to look at _him_ again. Like he loved him...or even like he hated him. Like he felt anything at all. Anything other than continuing to freeze Harry out this way.

Harry’s nightmares hadn’t been pleasant as of late. In fact, they happened more often than ever before. He cast silencing spells every night before sleeping just in case, so he never disturbed anyone with them at least. Still, he was starting to worry that he should be talking to someone about them—who knew if or when Draco would be up to listening again.

The day before the task, he decided he had nothing to lose. Draco was, as he usually was at this time, waiting to be dismissed and pointedly not looking at him.

“Part of me knows that you’re being this way because you’re scared I’m going to get myself hurt,” Harry whispered. “I mean, you told me that. But this other part of me doesn’t feel like that.” He stopped, trying to get a grip on himself so he wouldn’t cause a scene in the middle of Potions. He wouldn’t put it past Snape to take points from him for daring to show emotion, seconds left in class or no.

“There’s this voice in the back of my head,” he finally continued. “It gets louder every time I wake up in a cold sweat alone, and it keeps saying that this is what you really mean. I’m _cold_ Draco.”

Finally, miraculously, the blond looked at him. He didn’t reply, but his eyes shined silver.

“Without you I’m just… cold,” Harry finished, his last ditch effort to get Draco to talk to him.

Draco didn’t, just stared at him until Snape dismissed them all. Harry sighed in defeat and rose, preparing to walk away, when Draco suddenly took hold of his arm and pulled him down. Their lips met roughly for the first time in what felt like _ages_ , and Harry melted completely against him.

It was not a lengthy kiss, Draco pulled away after only seconds. He didn’t even say a word, just grabbed his bag and walked out, leaving Harry staring after him. Hermione and Ron did him the favour of not commenting.

`&`

Draco barely made it into a stall before he sunk to the floor. He absolutely should not have done that. He couldn’t recall even deciding to. One second Harry was going to leave and Draco was going to let him, and the next second they were kissing. Why had he done that? Now it was all worse than ever.

But _gods_ what Harry had said. Draco couldn’t think of anything that would have been worse.

 _I’m_ cold _Draco._

Draco put his head between his knees. For the first couple days, he’d hoped that Harry would tell him that he decided not to go along, to let the adults find him a safe place away from it all so they could handle the Dark Lord by themselves. When that didn’t happen, Draco had just gotten angrier and angrier, until it was more principle than anything. Vaguely, he registered the tears in his eyes with the typical irritation and embarrassment.  

He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by when someone knocked on the stall door.

“Draco,” said Theo’s voice.

“What?” he croaked, wincing at how raw he sounded even to his own ears.

“I don’t have a very clear idea what’s going on with the two of you, mate, but I think you need to fix it. We all hate seeing you like this.”

Draco huffed out a broken sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob in response. After a minute, when Theo hadn’t moved, he reached up and unlocked the door, pulling it open. Theo simply sat down next to him.

“I can’t tell you what he’s going to do,” Draco said. “I’m literally not allowed.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “You honestly think Blaise and Greg didn’t tell me everything they heard you say?”

When Draco looked at him in alarm, the other boy only waved his arm. “It took both me and Pansy to drag it out of them, and none of us are going to tell anyone anything.”

The blond relaxed again. There was nothing to be done about it anyway, since Draco didn’t much care for the thought of obliviating all of his friends.

“So here’s what I say you do,” Theo continued.

Draco raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Go with him.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean go into the maze,” Theo clarified. “Harry might be the Boy Who Lived, but he’s still just a teenager. If he gets to be there, why shouldn’t you? Then at least you’ll be there to protect him. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Stunned, Draco nodded. It was just then that the date occurred to him; the task was tomorrow. He needed to see Dumbledore immediately.

Standing abruptly, he told Theo thank you and left the restrooms in a rush.

 `&`

In hindsight, it really shouldn’t of been such a surprise that Dumbledore would tell him no. Pointing out that Harry was also ‘ _a child’_ and, in fact, even younger than him didn’t help his case at all. Because, of course, Harry had faced the Dark Lord before—and wasn’t _that_ a pleasant reminder.

Dumbledore seemed to be genuinely sympathetic to Draco, but it wasn’t enough. Which left the blond sitting here, on his bed, utterly hopeless once again.

When Theo entered the room and sat down next to him, Draco wondered absently if the other boy had recently acquired the ability to sense when he was in despair. It seemed unlikely, but lately what did Draco know?

“What in the rutting hell did you do?” Theo sighed.

Draco side-eyed him. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I assumed after our chat earlier that you would stop moping around. What happened to the plan?”

It was Draco’s turn to sigh. “Dumbledore doesn’t think me tagging along is a very good idea.”

“You’re _joking_ ,” Theo deadpanned.

“What?”

The brown haired boy rolled his eyes dramatically. “I realise there’s been quite a bit more change this year than usual, but I’m fairly certain you’re not a wuss Draco. I can’t believe you actually went and _asked permission._ ”

The blond blinked. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Theo looked at him like he’d just asked what colour the sky was. “You’re a bloody _Slytherin_. Go anyway! Have some stealth!”

Draco shook his head dismissively. “Right. Let me just sneak into the third task. Why should that be difficult? There’ll only be hundreds of people in the audience and an Auror every ten feet. Piece of cake.”

When Theo didn’t reply, Draco looked back over at him. The other boy looked dangerously contemplative.

“What?” Draco prodded after another moment of silence. “You’ve an idea, what is it?”

“What if no one could see you?”

“I think it’ll take a bit more than a notice-me-not charm to get by trained Aurors,” Draco said.

“What about the invisibility cloak?”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “You mean... take Harry’s.”

The other boy nodded.

“That... that is brilliant!” the blond exclaimed. “Wait, how do you even know about his cloak? What’s the point of having one of those if you go telling everyone about it?”

“Oh, he didn’t,” Theo assured him. “He took it off in front of me once. Wouldn’t of even thought about it again if it weren’t for this.”

“Oh,” said Draco.

“You’re gonna do it right?” Theo asked. “Use the cloak?”

“I’m going to try. But how am I supposed to get my hands on it?” he said. “Not like Harry’s going to just hand it over to me.”

“You’ve got friends in Gryffindor, don’t you?” Theo asked after a moment of thought.

“Yes...” Draco replied slowly.

“Who’s the one with the best chance of nicking it? Or who would do it without asking too many questions?”

The blond hardly had to even think about it. He let out a long breath. “Weasley.”

`&`

“You want what?” Weasley said.

Draco looked around, double checking that no one was in the hallway before turning back to the red head. “I need his cloak, Weasley. And I really, really need him not to know about it.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“The less you know, the better, alright?” Draco said. He was growing increasingly desperate as the seconds passed. It was already early evening, and Harry could be returning to Gryffindor tower at any moment. If he did, there was no way Draco would get his hands on that cloak before tomorrow.

“Are we friends, Malfoy?” Weasley asked abruptly.

The Slytherin blinked, so thrown by the question that the answer came out honest. “I think we are. Er, right?”

“Alright. I’ll be right back then.”

Draco stood for a moment in something like awe. Yes, he believed he was friends with Weasley. Ron Weasley. When had that happened? But then the ginger haired boy came back out, a shimmering ball of fabric in his grasp, and Draco refocused on what was at hand.

“Thank you, Weasley,” Draco said when it was placed in his arms.

“Ron.”

The blond looked up, surprised again. “What?”

“My name is Ron, Draco.”

“Uh... right. Okay, I guess. Thank you... Ron.”

The ginger smiled and left him standing there. It was the sound of voices coming around the corner that finally snapped Draco out of his state, and he threw the cloak around himself hastily. He tried not to feel too proud of himself when the group of Gryffindors passed right by him, oblivious.

`&`

Polyjuice tasted awful, just as it had the one other time Harry had taken it. He watched in fascination as the Auror in front of him slowly took on his features, shrinking while Harry himself gained several inches.

The Aurors who were taking place of Cedric, Fleur and Viktor had already transformed. When Harry had thought to ask, Scrimgeour—the somewhat intimidating Head Auror—had told him that the other Champions had been slipped a strong sleeping potion during dinner last night and secured elsewhere.

Harry knew it was a bit ridiculous to feel guilty, as this was all to do with Voldemort and not him, but he still regretted taking this opportunity away from the other three. Harry’d never wanted to be a part of the Tournament in the first place, but the others had.

Harry shook off his thoughts and stood still as the Aurors put traces on him as well as themselves. It was, he was told, essential for all the other Aurors involved to be able to track where everyone was during the task. Harry was to be placed with an Auror named Timothy Reid on the northern edge, just outside the maze.

He didn’t like it, but it was better than not being there at all.

 _Not according to Draco,_ an inner voice helpfully pointed out. Harry sighed and tried to push the blond out of his mind. Everyone was focused on defeating Voldemort, it was only right Harry be as well.

`&`

Draco felt more alert than he ever had before in all his fifteen years, despite that he’d only slept for about three hours. He had to be sure he would beat the crowds, not willing to risk jostling anyone and ending up discovered.

The cloak was securely around him as he watched several Aurors show up and take their positions. For all he knew, one of them could be Harry. He did his best not to think about that, though.

Draco had been waiting as close to the maze as possible, so he could immediately follow after the first polyjuiced Champion that came by. As it happened, it ended up being Fleur. He trailed her—at least he was assuming the Auror was actually a her—all the way to her position, and waited anxiously for the task to begin.

A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hermione asked him what in the everloving hell he was doing, but he ignored it. If Harry got to toss himself into dangerous situations for the sake of protecting everyone under the bloody sun, then he had every right to do so to protect Harry.

While it was true that Harry wasn’t actually entering the maze—thank Merlin—he would undoubtedly be apparating in at the first sign of actual danger. Hermione had informed Draco that Dumbledore was lifting the Apparition Wards during the task, so as to make it easier for the Aurors on hand to do their jobs. Draco hadn’t even known that was possible, and Hermione had seemed fascinated with the logistics of such a thing. Unfortunately for Draco, he’d yet to learn to apparate and couldn’t do so without help. The only way he’d be able to get into the maze was if he snuck in when it first opened. He didn’t have any other options.

It didn’t seem long before Bagman—who, as far as Draco knew, had no idea what was actually going on—was shouting, “Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin!”

He went into a spiel then about current standing, and before long the Auror who wore Krum’s face was entering the maze. Draco took a deep breath and, as soon as it opened in front of Auror Fleur, he ran inside.  

Moments after he’d entered, it became eerily silent. Turning, Draco realised this was because the hedges had somehow blocked out the roar of the crowd as it closed them in. The Auror had already taken off, her wand out in front of her in preparation for any unknown threat, and Draco chased after her. He let Harry’s cloak fall from his shoulders as he did so, given that it was no longer necessary and would only slow him down.

The Auror must have heard his footfalls, as she suddenly stopped and swung back around to face him. Her wand was pointed at his neck in seconds.

 _Well,_ Draco thought, _didn’t consider this._ He put both his hands up, palms open.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded, a warning against lying plain in her voice. Not that he planned to lie.

“Draco Malfoy.”

She huffed impatiently. “Perhaps I should have lead with what are you doing here? And don’t give me shite about being part of the mission. You’ve not got a trace on you, and I’m not in the position to entertain any games.”

The Slytherin blinked. “Trace?”

“Answer the question,” the Auror said through gritted teeth.

“I came to protect Harry.”

For a moment, the woman simply stared at him. Then, slowly, she lowered her wand. “You’re not a Death Eater,” she said, sounding near incredulous. “You’re just an idiot kid.”  

“Uh,” Draco replied eloquently.

The Auror shook her head, exasperated. “Unbelievable. So not only do I have to pretend to compete—and therefore actually compete—in some bloody death tournament that I didn’t sign up for, but now I’ve got to babysit while I do it? How you even got in here is another concern entirely, so much for the stellar security.”

She seemed to have gotten temporarily lost in her offensive ranting, but then she shook it off. She blew out another annoyed breath. “Fine. Just stay close to me and try not to get killed, will you? I’m probably already going to be demoted as it is.”

For the next unbelievably nerve-wrecking couple of hours, Draco did his best. Time seemed to pass strangely, though he thought it may have just been the stress. The only real means he had of knowing approximately how much time had passed was when the woman would open a pouch on her hip and drink what must have been Polyjuice from a flask.

Draco’d never seen a trained Auror in any kind of real action, and watching Not Fleur fire off spells and solve riddles—with someone else’s wand, no less—likely would have been incredible under different circumstances. As it happened, though, they were both far too reactant to every stray noise to glean any sort of enjoyment from it.

 _The Dark Lord could be in here by now,_ Draco thought at least twice a minute. Which was why he was incredibly confused when, eventually, he followed the Auror around another corner and was met with the sight of Harry examining the Triwizard cup.

 _Not actually Harry,_ he reminded himself the next moment. Knowing that didn’t calm him nearly enough, however, as he was still bewildered. He didn’t appear to be the only one, as Not Harry chose that moment to notice Auror Fleur and ask, “What do we do?”

The woman shook her just so, enough to show that she was at just as much of a loss. “I haven’t the faintest. I thought one of us would have been attacked by now.”

“You think this might actually of all been a setup?” Not Harry inquired.

Before she could answer, the Auror who looked like Diggory showed up. He took in the sight of all three of them standing around the cup and blinked. “What’s going on?”

“We’re all here but nothing’s happened and no one knows what to do next,” Draco informed him.

“And who are you?”

Draco opened his mouth again, to say what he wasn’t entirely sure, but Not Fleur beat him to it. “He’s some dimwit kid, followed me into the maze.”

The other two Aurors just nodded dismissively—there was nothing they could do really—and turned their attention back on the cup.

“So... this was all for nothing then,” Not Harry said after a moment. “I mean, one of us grabs this cup and the task’s over. Unless You Know Who is planning to attack in front of the entire audience, I think old Dumbledore was having Scrimgeour on.”  

Draco wanted to defend the old wizard and his parents, but he held his tongue when he realised he didn’t know how. There was nothing to prove the Auror wrong. Here they stood, having gone through the whole maze and staring at the finish line, and nothing had happened. It didn’t make sense, but there was nothing Draco could say.

“I guess we get to decide who wins,” said the Auror with Diggory’s face.

The other two and Draco looked at him in question.

“Well, we’re obviously not the real Champions, but this is still the real final task. Whoever wins this takes it all and they weren’t here to compete for themselves. So it’s up to us, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t it be Krum then?” Not Fleur said. “He had the most points going in. It’s only fair.”

“Why are you all standing around it?” interrupted a voice.

The four of them turned to look as Auror Krum joined them.

“What took you so long, Matt?” Not Harry asked.

Matt still looked stressed. “Someone was in here. Didn’t get a good look, but they tried to _imperio_ me. Had to fend ’em off. None of you lot saw anyone?”

The other Aurors had all stiffened at the news, but remained calm as professionals tended to.

“Haven’t seen anyone since this pillock followed me in,” said Not Fleur. Draco scowled but knew better than to say anything.

Matt gave Draco a look that made plain exactly what he thought about that, then said, “So what now?”

“Now you grab the cup and win the Tournament for Krum,” said Not Harry.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” protested Matt.

“Krum had the most points,” Auror Fleur told him. “It’s the fairest option we’ve got since no one bothered to tell us what we should do at this point.”

“What if you all grabbed it?” Draco suggested as the thought came to him.

All four Aurors regarded him questioningly.

“It just stands to reason that if all of you grabbed it at the same time, then you could wash your hands of it,” Draco explained. “It would be like the third task never happened, and it’d be up to the judges to decide who won.”

“Would you look at that,” Not Diggory said when the information sunk in, “the kid’s useful.”

Matt rolled his eyes but reached out so his hand hovered by the cup. “On three then?” he asked, earning a nod from the others. “One… two… three.”

The next handful of seconds seemed to happen in slow motion to Draco. In the first, each pseudo Champion placed their hands on the cup. In the next two, they were all four yanked towards it and began to disappear. In the second following, Draco realized it was a portkey and—practically without any further thought—blindly reached for the closest remaining body part. In the last, he landed hard against the ground, still clutching Not Fleur’s ankle.

He let go and raised his head. “What happened?”

Not Harry, who had obviously landed badly, twisted around to scowl at him. The look was all at once so familiar and not familiar at all that it stole the blond’s breath for a moment.

“A graveyard by the looks of it,” Auror Fleur said as she stood up, bringing him back to present. She reached down to help Draco stand.

The five of them all looked around. She was right, obviously. They must’ve come miles—perhaps hundreds of miles—to get here. There was no telling how long it would take the rest of the Aurors back at Hogwarts to track them and apparate here. After all, Draco had no idea how closely they were being monitored. What if the rest of the Auror force hadn’t yet noticed they were gone?

His rising panic and dread were forcefully put aside, though, when the muscles in all four Auror’s shoulders tensed and Not Fleur murmured, “Someone’s here. Hide.”

_Hide?_

But he wasn’t given the opportunity to question such a decision further, as the woman grabbed hold of his upper arm and yanked him along with her. He wasn’t able to notice where the other three Aurors had concealed themselves, but he hoped wherever it was would be enough. He and Auror Fleur had ducked behind a large gravestone, the darkness providing extra cover.

Faintly, Draco could just make out the sound of gravel shifting underneath someone’s feet.

 _Listen, you have to keep absolutely quiet_ , Not Fleur told him. He nearly shushed her out of fear before he understood she was speaking to his mind. He realised in the same moment that, yes, of course she was a Legilimens. Why else would she have trusted him so easily earlier in the maze?

She continued without acknowledging his revelations. _If you get us discovered, I’ll have to use force to protect you and it’s against protocol to act before a hostile offence has been committed. This is just as much about gathering intel as it is anything else. Do_ not _jeopardise this mission._

Draco simply nodded mutely. He had no way of knowing personally what sorts of things were expected of senior Aurors in the field, so he couldn’t argue no matter how stupid he thought it sounded. They’d just been illegally transported from Hogwarts grounds to a graveyard in the middle of nowhere and that wasn’t crime enough?

Apparently not, if the look on Not Fleur’s face was any indication. Draco did as told and remained absolutely quiet, sweat gathering on his forehead. Moments later, a horrible voice—if it could even be referred to as such—interrupted the silence.

“ _Has Potter… arrived?_ ” it rasped coldly.

“I believe so master,” another unfamiliar voice replied somewhat fearfully. “The portkey has been used.”

“ _Find him_ ,” the high pitched, inhuman voice demanded.

“Harry Potter!” called the second voice. “You are miles from protection and have nowhere to run, come out and surrender painlessly.”

Draco glanced at Auror Fleur in fear, worried for the Auror who was wearing Harry’s face. She appeared to be forming words with her lips. After a moment, Draco realised in horror that she had mouthed _Do it_ several times.

 _Do it?!_ he thought at her, incredulous. _He’ll die._

She turned a steely gaze at him, daring him to question her again and see what happened. _We’re not going to let him die you imbecile. We simply need to play along and find out what is happening. This is what we’re trained for._

There was the sound of shuffling then, gravel shifting loudly.

“Here you are,” said the now triumphant voice a moment later, followed by the sound of dragging feet and protest. Draco did not need to have seen to understand that Not Harry had given his position away on purpose, just as the woman to Draco’s right had wanted, and was now playing the part of the trapped victim.

Draco wanted badly to glance over the stone that blocked him from sight, but he knew doing so would be profoundly idiotic. He listened as closely as possible, trying to make out anything that would give him a clue as to what was happening to the Auror. Mostly, it was all laboured breathing.

At one point, Draco imagined that he could hear hissing. Almost like a snake would make… exactly like a snake would make. A very large one if his imagination was to be trusted, though at the moment that was admittedly questionable.

 _Relax, a snake is only a reptile,_ Not Fleur mentally assured him _. If it gets too close I’ll take care of it. Or Matt or Henrick will._

Henrick, his brain took inventory of what must be Not Diggory’s real name.

“ _Hurry!_ ” the cold voice said suddenly, sending a shiver down Draco’s spine.

It was the other man, the human, who spoke next. “It is ready, Master.”

“ _Now…_ ” the inhuman voice replied.

The man, or minion as that’s what he clearly was, spoke then. Though it was less speaking and more chanting, as though the words were some kind of incantation. “ _Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.”_

This was followed by the sound of a sharp crack, like rock being split apart. Draco’s breath was coming in shallow pants, and a glance at the Auror next to him revealed an upper lip pulled back in some mix of awe and disgust. He couldn’t understand why in Merlin’s name they weren’t stopping this right now. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Not Fleur held up her index finger. _Wait._

There was whimpering, and the incantation continued through sobs. “ _Flesh— of the servant — w-willingly given — you will — revive — your master._ ”

The following scream was terrible, and Draco’s back straightened so tightly that his body jolted. The Auror by his side gripped her wand tightly, much like Draco was doing. Then, before he had time to even fear for her, she peered very quickly over the edge, and then breathed out very long and slow in obvious relief. The scream had been the servant’s then. For a moment, Draco pitied the unknown man.

That was until he continued. “ _B-blood of the enemy … forcibly taken … you will … resurrect your foe.”_

Draco understood all at once. The man still thought that he had Harry at his mercy, he couldn’t know that wasn’t the case. And there was only one true enemy of Harry’s: the Dark Lord. Draco’s parents had made it seem, as it was likely what they’d assumed, that the Dark Lord would rise again and _then_ come for Harry. They wouldn’t have known that the Dark Lord needed Harry in order to rise again at all.

Harry, Dumbledore and the Auror force had set up an entire plan to draw out the monster and prevent his attack when he hadn’t even yet been capable of attacking! And then, given the chance to stop his return, they hadn’t. They’d hidden behind gravestones and let the world’s greatest evil be reborn. Why the hell weren’t they doing anything? Where the bloody hell was back up? If they all hadn’t of grabbed that portkey at once, some or all of them would have died by now!

 _Quit panicking!_ Auror Fleur silently commanded him. _We’ve known what he was doing the whole time!_

 _What are you then?! Death Eaters yourselves?! Is this what you wanted?!_ Draco thought back at her loudly.

Her sharp gaze met his. _Adam is my friend, and he is the one tied to that headstone. Not you. Not your precious Harry Potter. Adam. And if Adam wanted to, he could have been out of those ropes and standing on top of that sick fuck’s corpse by now. But he hasn’t, and I trust that he knows what he’s bloody doing._

 _Letting the Dark Lord return?!_ Draco hissed mentally. _You trust someone who would let that happen?!_

 _You’re afraid. You’re not thinking straight,_ she told him. _Adam is not Harry Potter._

 _I’m aware,_ Draco replied. A small part of him marveled that he was still currently capable of sarcasm.

 _As in, Harry Potter’s blood was not used as intended,_ she added.

 _What does… oh._ All at once Draco understood. Magic, even Dark Magic, performed incorrectly never had the intended outcome. Nearly everyone in the wizarding world was enemy to the Dark Lord, including Adam, but only Harry was the Dark Lord’s enemy. Likely only Harry’s blood would have brought him back correctly, and Harry wasn’t actually here.

Relief flooded Draco all at once, even as—amidst continual sobs and moans—a sinister, yet still blessedly frail voice said, “Robe me.”

“I feel…. weak,” it hissed after a moment, causing more whimpers from the servant.

“My Lord…” the servant choked, “my Lord … you promised… you did promise…”

“And I was promised that I would be returned to my full power and glory. Look at me, Wormtail. Do I look as though I received what was promised?”

“I did—I did everything you—you instructed,” the man called Wormtail begged.

“Hold out your arm,” the Dark Lord commanded.

“Oh Master… thank you, Master…”

“Your other arm you sniveling failure. I need a servant who will perform what I ask of them with some degree of success,” spit the Dark Lord disdainfully.

All that Draco could hear then was the sound of Wormtail’s cries. He glanced at Not Fleur, who appeared as though she was both excited and frightened at once. How such a look was possible, Draco had no idea.

“It is back,” the Dark Lord said softly then, still sounding laboured. Draco decided he didn’t want to see what the monster looked like just then. “They will all have noticed it… and now we shall see… now we shall know…”

A stab of fear hit Draco when he thought of the Mark on Severus’s arm, on his father’s arm. What was the last thing he had said to his father?

 _Thanks for letting me know I can keep my name I guess._ Draco winced as the words reverberated through his mind. Despite what had happened this year, Lucius Malfoy had not been a bad father. For most of Draco’s life, his father had done nothing but push him toward greatness. He’d said it was what Draco deserved.

 _If my father shows up here,_ Draco thought in Not Fleur’s direction, _please don’t let him die._

“How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” whispered the Dark Lord. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?”

For a moment, Draco thought she wouldn’t answer or hadn’t been listening for his thoughts over the Dark Lord’s voice. But then she said, _No one is going to die. The rest of my colleagues_ are _coming._

Draco hoped so.

 

 `&`

Harry’s scar had hurt before, but never anything close to this. Vaguely, he could hear Auror Reid’s voice yelling for help, but the pain was too much for him to focus on the words. He must have collapsed only a handful of seconds ago, but it felt like years. After several moments, when the agony had receded enough to allow him to think properly, he forced himself up, doing his best to ignore the remaining sting.

He couldn’t risk them using this as an excuse to leave him behind, not when he’d went through so much just to be allowed there. More Aurors had joined Timothy when Harry had went down, and he hurried to explain what must have happened. Thankfully, they all took him seriously.

“They’re not in the maze,” one said a minute later, after casting the spell required to locate the Aurors. They were supposed to of been tracing every ten minutes or so, but as the task went on Harry knew they’d done so less regularly. He thought the last time must have been over twenty minutes ago.  

“They’re miles away,” said someone else. “Merlin knows how or why.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Timothy. “We’ve got to go immediately. Tell the others.”

After several tense minutes of directing the other Aurors, he grabbed Harry’s arm and the at once familiar and incredibly uncomfortable sensation of apparition overtook him. The next second, he had landed in the middle of a battle field.

“Get down!” Harry heard someone shout, just as something—or someone—slammed into him, knocking him against the ground hard.

He looked up. There was no sign of whatever, or whoever, had collided with him. Harry finally was able to see that he was in a graveyard, headstones all around him, and there were Death Eaters everywhere. Or, at least he assumed they were Death Eaters based on how they were dressed. They looked just as they had at the World Cup in the summer.

And among them, barking orders in a high pitched, feeble voice, was the most foul creature Harry had ever seen. It wore black robes that covered the majority of its form, but what was left was more than Harry had ever wanted to see. Its limbs were a sickly shade of white, veins stark against it. Its head resembled that of aliens Harry had seen on the telly a few times growing up, with red eyes to boot. The thing looked as though it might collapse at any minute, a wand held uselessly in its grip.

As though it could sense Harry’s gaze, it looked up and locked gazes with him. Harry’s forehead burned something awful, and he used all his willpower not to clutch it. He knew then, this was Voldemort.

Something must have gone horribly wrong—or right, if one shared Harry’s point of view that is. This Voldemort couldn’t possibly be a real threat; he didn’t even look capable of doing magic.

Unfortunately, his Death Eaters still were. Aurors surrounded Harry, firing off spell after spell and taking some bad hits in return. Harry finally caught sight of the Auror who looked like him, but his attention was stolen in the next moment by blond hair in his peripheral vision.

At first, Harry thought it was Lucius. But no, a glance around revealed Lucius in the opposite direction—mask off and firing curses at another masked Death Eater. Close by him was the Auror who had taken Fleur’s place, a giant dead snake at her feet and a jet of red coming from the tip of the wand in her grasp.

Disbelief coursing through him, he turned towards where he thought he’d seen blond and was met with the sight of none other than Draco Lucius Malfoy. He was hovering over someone on the ground, but he looked up when he felt Harry’s gaze.

“Help me!” Draco shouted. Harry realised then that Draco likely didn’t know Harry wasn’t actually an Auror.

“What happened?” he asked Draco when he reached him.

“Crazy Death Eater bastard chopped off his own hand for that maniac and now I think he’s bleeding out,” Draco told him, all business.

 _Definitely doesn’t know it’s me, then,_ Harry thought.

“I’m not a medic or anything,” he replied anyway. “I don’t know how to help him. Who is he?”

“Dark Lord called him Wormtail. I was wondering where I’d heard the name before and then I remembered. Harry’s godfather went to Azkaban for killing him.”

Harry’s mind kicked into overdrive. Peter couldn’t die, he needed to testify. He needed to be alive to prove Sirius didn’t kill him. “Help!” he shouted out without thinking.

That was when time seemed to slow down. He’d called for help, and with it came the attention of everyone. Including the Death Eaters.

 _“Tormentum mortis!”_ someone screeched, and a jet of dark purple light went just past his side and hit Draco squarely in the chest.

 

A cry tore its way out of Harry’s throat as Draco’s neck snapped backwards, his grey eyes rolling back into his skull before his body fell to the ground.

Somehow, Lucius stood over them in the next minute. The man dropped to his knees, placed his wand against Draco’s temple and murmured another spell Harry had never heard. But it hardly mattered, because Draco did not stir.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

_The first thing Draco was aware of was the silence, so complete that it could have fooled him into believing that nothing existed outside of it._

_Opening his eyes revealed a familiar ceiling. He was home, in his bedroom at the Manor. Except, he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten here._

_Before he had time to think on it too much, his mother appeared in the doorway. She leaned against the frame as she stared at him. He sat up from the bed, something about her gaze unnerving._

_“What are you doing here, Draco?” she asked coldly._

_Draco blinked. “What?”_

_“I’d like to know just what you think you’re doing in my house,” she spit. “The nerve of you, coming here.”_

_His mother had never, not once in his life, spoken to him like this. She sounded like she despised him._

_“I... I live here,” he replied weakly._

_“My son lived here,” she said venomously. “I no longer have a son.”_

_Disbelief surged through him. Surely she hadn’t meant that._

_“Mum—”_

_“Shut your mouth!” she screeched, standing before him in the next blink and slapping him across the face. “How dare you call me that you disgusting little blood traitor.”_

_Slowly, unable to look away from his mother, Draco lifted a shaky hand to his stinging cheek._

_“Get out!” she demanded when he didn’t move._

_She shoved against his chest and, when he stumbled, a door slammed in his face, and Draco was shut into total darkness._

_Turning around, he discovered that he was trapped in a very small, windowless room with a low slanted ceiling. There was hardly space to breathe. The sound of rats scurrying in the walls had his breath coming in short pants. Hours or days went by in darkness before dignity lost its meaning. He gave in and began kicking violently at the small locked door, eventually reduced to scratching nails against the wood, screaming all the while for his mother to let him out. At one point, he vomited. It wasn’t until his hands were bloody and his voice was hoarse that light flooded in and, wasting no time, Draco scrambled forwards._

_He took in several long breaths of fresh air before his vision adjusted to the light. He found himself lying in the middle of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, staring at the starry ceiling. Only, sitting up revealed the Hall was completely bare; the House tables were nowhere in sight._

_Familiar laughter suddenly interrupted the eery silence, sending Draco to his feet and, once balanced, running in the direction of the sound. He left the Hall and rounded corner after corner, chasing Pansy’s giggles._

_He finally found her in the Potions classroom, sitting on Snape’s desk. She didn’t appear to be able to see him, her eyes on all the other students in the room. They filled every desk, as though class were in session—if a class would ever be made up entirely of Slytherins._

_“Any other ideas?” she asked, twirling her wand aimlessly._

_Blaise, seated in the corner, raised his hand. “He’s the reason everyone hates us.”_

_Draco furrowed his brows in confusion and glanced back at Pansy, who was beaming wickedly. “Good one,” she said. The blond watched as she turned and pointed her wand at the board, and his heart dropped into his stomach._

 

_Reasons to Drop Draco Malfoy_

_Whinges constantly_

_Believes we care about his problems_

_Forfeited his inheritance to be a poofter_

_Betrayed his blood status_

_Obsessed with Gryffindors_

_Teacher’s pet_

_Would betray any of us to advance himself_

_Hated by all of Hogwarts_

_Is the reason for Slytherin’s bad reputation_

 

_“What is this?” Draco whispered, forcing himself to look away from Pansy’s scrawl._

_“Ah, Draco,” she said. “Didn’t see you there. Have something to add, do you?”_

_The rest of the room’s occupants laughed._

_“What is this?” Draco repeated._

_Her lower lip came out in a mock pout. “You couldn’t possibly think we were all your friends because we_ liked _you, did you?”_

_Draco shook his head back and forth. “We’ve always been,” he breathed, refusing to believe what he was hearing._

_“Maybe you thought that,” Blaise said from his seat. “But we could hardly stand you. Day after day after day of your whinging about everything that dares to offend you. Like you’re_ special _somehow.”_

_“We just dealt with you for the money and the favours,” Pansy added. “And then you went and cocked that up too. All because you wanted Potter to stick it up your arse.”_

_“You’re practically worthless now,” finished Blaise._

_“No one wants you here, Draco,” Theo said, picking his nails at the other end of the room. “We’d be better off without you entirely.”_

_The rest of the room laughed and giggled while Draco stared between his best friends. This wasn’t happening, he decided this couldn’t be happening. The laughter seemed to steadily increase in volume, eventually forcing the blond to press his still-bleeding hands against his ears in an attempt to block it out. He could feel the stickiness against his skin._

_Draco couldn’t tell how long the it all went on, cycling through the taunts and pain of rejection from nearly everyone he’d known and loved. His father made regular appearances, teaching Draco how to use Curses he wanted to forget existed, mostly through practical exams that he paid dearly for failing. Refusing to practice on his Gryffindor friends usually meant they’d stand up and gleefully use whichever Curse it was on him._

_It was under Granger’s wand, when he had squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block it all out, that he felt the world around him shift again. When he opened them he was standing in the forbidden forest._

_The wind was frigid against his skin, and he clutched his worn, thin robes tighter against himself. The night was so dark that he could hardly see the hand in front of his face, but he somehow knew where he was. This was where he’d gotten lost with Harry back in first year._

_As though Draco’s thoughts had summoned him, Harry appeared in front of him._

_Long forgotten relief flooded through the blond at his presence. It had been so long since Draco had seen him, so long since anything had been okay, but if anyone could make things better it was Harry. “What are we doing here?” Draco asked him._

_“I should be asking you that, Malfoy,” Harry snarked accusingly._

_The flicker of hope dimmed._

_“Malfoy,” Draco repeated, so meekly he heard his own voice crack. “We’re back to Malfoy.”_

_“Why would I call you anything different?” Harry said, sounding revolted. His green eyes glittered with malice, and Draco’s own shut for a moment in a mix of hurt and resignation._

_“No,” he said, taking several steps back though he knew it would be pointless. “No please, not from you.”_

_“Oh I get it,” Harry said, a sneer parting his lips as he followed after Draco. “You still think I love you.”_

_He barked out a horrible laugh as Draco’s back hit a tree, preventing him from getting any further away. It took all his strength to keep himself standing for whatever would come next._

_“You’re demented if you think I could love a worthless Slytherin prat like you.”_

_“Stop,” Draco pleaded uselessly. It had been a while since he’d resorted to begging, but he couldn’t stop the words despite knowing they’d have a cost. “You don’t mean that. You love me, I love you.”_

_“You never_ loved _me,” Harry scoffed. “I’d be bloody disgusted if you did. You’re nothing but an arrogant, good for nothing ponce. I’ve always hated you, since the first time we met Malfoy.”_

_And then Harry hit him, his fist colliding with Draco’s jaw so hard that the blond went down. He looked up at Harry from the ground, vaguely aware that his lip was now bleeding._

_“You mean_ nothing _to me,” said Harry, standing over him. “And you’re touched in the head if you ever think different.”_

`&`

 

St. Mungos was a cold, hopeless place in Harry’s opinion. From the moment he’d walked in just over a week ago, he’d hated it here, but not being by Draco’s side was unthinkable.

Most everyone came and went, but Harry and Draco’s mum were practically permanent fixtures here since Draco was brought in. Hermione showed up often enough to bring news and make sure they’d both eaten, occasionally bringing Viktor in tow while he was still in England. Having the most points had indeed left him with the Triwizard cup, and now the Durmstrang student had enough money to travel on his own, allowing him to remain with Hermione for a few extra weeks. He never showed any less concern than Hermione when it came to any of her friends, always asking after Draco’s current status and how everyone was holding up.

The past few days, the current news had been all about the Death Eater trials. They were a formality, as all but Lucius—and, of course, Snape—would undoubtedly spend the remainder of their days in Azkaban.

Voldemort had died again during the battle, Alyssa Cole—the Auror who’d been assigned to take Fleur’s place—had delivered the killing blow. She’d told _The Daily Prophet_ that it hadn’t been difficult, given Voldemort’s attempt at reincarnation via Dark Magic had gone wrong, leaving him weak and apparently powerless.

Since then, Cole and the other Aurors who’d been Polyjuiced had essentially vanished. It was rumoured that Scrimgeour, supposedly on Dumbledore’s request, had selected them for a top secret mission. Hermione had assured Harry, however, that it was nothing to be concerned about. Harry wasn’t, for once. He had enough to be concerned about already.

Today, however, Hermione had brought different news. Peter, who had been until now unconscious and recovering from his brush with death, had woken up. According to Hermione, he’d been immediately dosed with Veritaserum and questioned extensively. The ministry, as a result, was now working to locate Sirius, encouraging him to come out of hiding with the promise of being absolved of all charges. It had only been a few hours, however, so he hadn’t yet shown up. Harry didn’t know how long it would be before he would.

As usual, Harry had not moved since Hermione left. Neither had Narcissa, though she never moved much at all. Which was why Harry was surprised to see her suddenly look up at the doorway and then rise. When Harry turned and met Dumbledore’s eyes, it made sense.

Quietly, Draco’s mum left the room. The white haired wizard conjured a chair next to Harry’s and sat down in it without speaking. Then he reached over and placed something in Harry’s lap.

Harry looked down at the Marauder's Map in confusion, then up at Dumbledore.

“I think this belongs to you,” he said, eye twinkling.

“Yeah,” Harry replied slowly. “But I let Moody borrow it. Does he not need it anymore?”

The old wizard looked sad at that. “Unfortunately Harry, the wizard you allowed to use this Map was not the real Alastor Moody.”

“I don’t understand,” said Harry.

“Do you recall earlier this year, when your scar began to hurt in class and you came to see me?”

Harry couldn’t possibly have forgotten if he’d wanted to. Draco had been absolutely distraught when Harry had collapsed in the middle of Potions. That was also the day he’d fallen into the Pensieve, and he wasn’t likely to forget anything he’d seen while in there either. “Of course, Professor.”

“Bartemius Crouch Jr. is alive,” said Dumbledore. “He has been acting the part of Professor Moody throughout this year. It was he who put your name in the Goblet. He created a Portkey using the Triwizard cup, and attempted to use the Imperius Curse on Auror Jenks during the task. You, Harry, have never met the real Alastor Moody.”  

Harry blinked at his Headmaster. “And Crouch Sr. knew didn’t he? That was why he’d been acting so strange ever since the World Cup, isn’t it?”

Dumbledore only nodded. “It’s nothing to be worried about anymore, my boy,” he assured him. “The young Crouch was interrogated under truth serum and the real Alastor has been found. He is being cared for as we speak. I only thought you’d like one more trouble off your mind, and your Map returned of course.”

“But how did... how was he caught if he’d gotten away with it all year?” Harry wondered aloud.

“It seemed losing his sovereign cost him what remaining sanity he had,” answered Dumbledore. “He attempted to murder your double just following the battle, still under the impression he was you.”

Harry could only nod mutely. Now that he’d been told all he was interested in learning, reality had begun to set back in, and his attention returned to Draco. He hardly noticed when Dumbledore left.

Harry was left once again to his own thoughts, the memory of the first day in St. Mungos coming back to him as it often did.

  


_“Where is he?!” A woman was shouting. “Where is my son?!”_

_Somewhere in the recesses of Harry’s mind, he recognised it as Narcissa’s voice, but he could hardly think. He couldn’t remember who had brought him here. There were Healers everywhere, people screaming for their loved ones. A body on a gurney was floated past him, blood dripping onto the ground. Harry caught a short glimpse of Peter’s bleeding stump before arms grabbed him about the shoulders. Narcissa’s face was suddenly inches from his own, her eyes wild._

_“Where is Draco?” she demanded. “I was told something happened to Draco!”_

_Harry tried to speak, to tell her about the way Draco’s eyes had rolled upwards into his head, but he couldn’t find the words._

_“Cissa!”_

_The woman turned at the sound of her husband’s voice, and Harry was spared answering._

_Lucius didn’t say anything else, only waved his arm frantically to get his wife to go with him. Harry followed after them immediately, needing to get to Draco._

_When he reached the room they were keeping him in, he was met with an odd sight. There were three Healers standing around Draco’s bed, doing nothing but stare uselessly at him. Their hands were slightly lifted, as if they were unaware of it._

_“Why aren’t you helping him?!” Draco’s mother screeched at the one nearest her. The Healer, an average looking woman, looked at her._

_“Are you the parents?” said the one closest to Draco._

_Lucius and Narcissa nodded in unison._

_“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do for him,” he said._

_“What do you mean?” Lucius snarled._

_“The tests read that your son has been hit with a previously undocumented, original variation of the Killing Curse.”_

_The world seemed to drop beneath Harry’s feet, and Narcissa’s hands flew to cover her mouth. She looked at her husband in horror, but Lucius—while obviously fearful—did not seem surprised._

_The third healer in the room continued. “Our findings suggest that the curse targets the victim’s mind specifically, likely producing devastating hallucinations until the victim... essentially until the victim loses the will to live and their body consequently shuts down.”_

_“I knew Nott for many years, I was one of the first he shared the curse with,” Lucius said. “I performed the counter-curse within the first minute.”_

_“That explains why your son is not already dead,” the Healer replied. “The curse was created to be, while not as instantaneous as the Killing Curse, very rapid. If you hadn’t performed the countermeasure, it is certain your son would have died within minutes.”_

_“And yet you act as though he is dying,” Lucius said._

_“He very well still could,” the female Healer answered then. “The countermeasure seems to have significantly diluted the curse, likely reducing the degree of  the aforementioned hallucinations to, how shall we say, manageable levels.”_

_“What does that_ mean _?!” Narcissa asked brokenly._

_“In simple terms: if your son is strong enough, he will live.”_

_Neither Lucius or Narcissa seemed able to speak, so Harry did. He needed to have it be said. “And if he’s not?”_

_“He will die,” said the Healer. “I’m very sorry. There’s nothing more we can do.”_

 

_Lucius had disappeared shortly after the Healers had left the room. Harry couldn’t bring himself to care where the man was going. Narcissa sat near the window, still as a rock, facing her son._

_She didn’t even flinch when Harry and Draco’s friends began spilling in. Hermione and Pansy led the group, and they both dropped at Draco’s side immediately. Blaise and Neville entered next but stayed back, quietly standing to the side of the doorway. They exchanged a loaded look, and Harry averted his eyes before he could see what they were thinking on their faces._

_As a consequence, he didn’t notice Ron come in, but he looked up when a hand rested on his shoulder._

_Thankfully no one asked him what had happened, Hermione had likely asked the Healers beforehand and told them all so Harry wouldn’t have to. It explained why she and Pansy were already crying, at least._

_But there was one question Harry himself still didn’t have the answer to, as it hadn’t occurred to him until just now. “How was he there?” he asked, his voice coming out a hoarse whisper._

_Hermione looked up at him through tears. “What did you s-say, Harry?”_

_“What was Draco even doing there?” he said, loud enough to be understood this time._

_Her eyes flashed up to Ron for only a fraction of a second. Harry had been looking right at her, though, so it was enough. “What do you know?” he demanded of his best friend._

_“He used your cloak, mate,” Ron finally admitted. He didn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes. “He came around asking for it and I gave it to him.”_

_He must have seen the look on Harry’s face then, because he hurried to add, “I had no idea what he wanted it for I swear!”_

_Harry shook his head back and forth. “Why would he…?”_

_“He wanted to protect you,” said a voice from the doorway. Everyone in the room, including Harry, turned to stare at the newly arrived Theodore Nott. Vincent and Greg stood just behind him, almost like they had for Draco so many times in the past._

_“What?” Harry said, his voice almost unfamiliar to his own ears. He noticed suddenly that he’d stood up as he said it._

_Theo blinked at him sadly. “He was a mess, he thought you were going to go and get yourself killed and felt helpless to stop it. I was only trying to help him; I had no idea this would happen.”_

_“You told him to do this?!”_

_“Harry,” Hermione’s voice broke in. “Theo couldn’t have known.”_

_But Harry had seen the answer to his question in the boy’s eyes, and had already crossed the room before Hermione finished speaking. His fist smashed into Theo’s jaw, sending the Slytherin to the ground. Harry followed right after him, aiming blow after blow at the other boy’s face. Or as many as he could get in before several arms grabbed at him and yanked him off._

_“That’s_ enough _, Harry,” Blaise told him._

 _Harry didn’t think it was enough. Didn’t Blaise or Vince or Greg understand that Draco was_ dying _and it was Theo’s fault?! Neville was knelt down next to Nott, obviously making sure he was alright. As if he deserved that._

_“Let me go!” Harry ordered viciously._

_The other boys held onto him tighter. Theo just looked at him from where he sat on the ground, bleeding._

_“You did this!” Harry shouted at him. “You sent him in and your Dad killed him!”_

_At that, Theo blanched. “What did you say?” he breathed._

_And with that, all the fight in Harry abandoned him. Even in his state, he knew no one could fake that kind of shock or hurt. He slumped against the three boys who’d been holding him back, exhausted, and began to cry._

`&`

 

Over two months after the battle, Hermione Granger could be found sitting in what might as well have been known as “Harry’s chair.”

“’lo Neville,” she said when her friend came in.

Neville gave her a small smile and handed her a coffee. “I knew you were up here visiting him and thought you could use that.”

Hermione took a grateful sip and then looked back down at Draco. “I come when I can, but I don’t have as much time now that I’ve got coursework again. In fact, I’m surprised you’re here.”

Neville sat down next to her. “I’m actually here to, um, see my parents. But I told Blaise I’d stop in while I was here, see if there was news.”

“Your parents?” Hermione repeated, confused. She’d just realised that she didn’t actually know much—or anything really—about Neville’s family.

Neville sighed. “I used to keep them a secret, but I told Blaise a while back and he said that my parents are heroes and deserve better than that.”

Hermione only waited patiently for him to continue.

“They’ve been here for years... A Death Eater used Crucio on them until they went mad,” he admitted. “I come and see them now and again, even though they don’t know who I am.”

“Oh Neville,” said Hermione as she reached over to hug him, heartbroken for her friend. “I’m so sorry I never knew.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Neville mumbled into her shoulder. “I never told you.”

She pulled away from him. “I’m glad you have now. Blaise was right.”

“He’d love to hear you say that,” Neville said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

Hermione laughed, but immediately sobered. It didn’t seem right to laugh in St. Mungos. She looked back down at her unconscious friend.

“You know,” Neville began, “it’s really horrible of me to think this, but, in a way, it’s lucky.”

Hermione looked up at him sharply, her shock must have been written all over her face. “Lucky that Draco could die?”

“No!” he said quickly, then took a deep breath. “Lucky that it’ll either be one or the other. I mean, you heard what the Healers said. If Draco wakes up, he’ll be alright. I mean... there might be stuff he’ll have to work though, but for the most part he’s supposed to be okay if he lives. And if he dies, well, then he’s dead.”

“I still don’t see how that’s lucky,” Hermione quipped, low on patience and sleep.

Neville sighed, but didn’t back down. In the past, Hermione thought he would have—or likely would have never said what he had in the first place. But Neville’s confidence had increased ever since Blaise snapped his wand in half accidentally (on purpose). Hermione had her theories, but they weren’t important just then.

“What I mean is, he’ll just be dead. And we’ll all cry and mourn... but then we’ll move on. You know, heal.” Hermione understood then, but her friend continued anyway. “He won’t be here but not; looking at us but not knowing us. Awake but not… well you get it. It’s lucky because it won’t be that.”

Hermione gave Neville a long look, and then reached out to take Draco’s cold hand. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I thought Harry would be here,” Neville said after a while in silence.

“I convinced him and Narcissa to go shower and get some food in them while they had the chance.”

Hermione’s lip curled down at the corners when she recalled how the both of them had made her promise five separate times to send for them immediately if anything changed, as they always did. It had been nearly three months and there was no indication Draco would wake any time soon. It wasn’t healthy for them to spend so many hours here, neglecting themselves.

“Think he’ll ever come back?” Neville asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Harry, come back to school,” he clarified. “Everyone’s always asking.”

Hermione sighed. Harry had missed two weeks of classes so far, and refused to even entertain the subject with anyone—his godfather included. Sirius wasn’t much for applying force, even after becoming Harry’s legal guardian. Narcissa had also tried to convince Harry this wasn’t what Draco would have wanted, but she couldn’t exactly hold up against his retorts. The older woman had abandoned her life just as much as Harry had—more so, even.

“I wish I knew,” Hermione finally said.

Neville left a short while later, and Hermione began to talk to Draco as she sometimes did. Pansy was always demanding she tell him something or another for her. But whenever Hermione suggested she come along to visit this time, the other girl would refuse. All their friends did. Hermione didn’t blame them for not wanting to see their friend like this. She didn’t like it much either, but someone besides Sirius had to check in on Harry and Narcissa. He had a house to remodel and an entire life to rebuild, after all. Lucius Malfoy surely was not going to take up the responsibility, given that he hadn’t even been seen at St. Mungos since the day Draco was brought in. First it was because of his trial. But now Narcissa insisted it was due to misplaced guilt. Hermione thought that was a worthless excuse, but graciously kept her opinion to herself.

“Ron was asking about you again today,” she was saying to Draco. “I thought you’d like to know that. I never would have imagined a year ago that the two of you would be friends. Or the two of us, for that matter. But I’m so glad we are... I miss you. We all miss you. Your parents miss you. Harry misses you, though I’m sure he tells you that himself often enough. He’s... not well, Draco. I don’t think you’d want to see him like this. His birthday came and went a while back, turned fifteen and he didn’t even blink. It’s—”

Hermione broke off, staring down at the hand she could of sworn had just squeezed hers. For a moment, she held her breath. Then Draco’s hand moved again, and her eyes snapped back to his face.

“Draco?” she breathed. “Can you _hear_ me?”

The Healers had told Hermione over and over again that Draco couldn’t actually hear anything anyone said to him while comatose. Talking to him had just become sort of therapeutic. If he could really hear her now, it had to mean he was waking up.

 _He’s waking up,_ Hermione’s mind repeated, unable to think past the shock.

Slowly, impossibly, grey eyes fluttered and then opened. After possibly the longest moment in human history, they focused on her.

“Draco?”

The blond parted his lips, then closed them again and swallowed. Hermione sprang out of her seat and ran to get him a glass of water from the sink. Some part of her was still surprised when, once she returned, he was still looking at her. Awake. Actually awake.

It took some convincing to get him to drink from the glass, Merlin knew why, but he did soon enough.

“Granger.”

A whole world of emotions went through Hermione at the sound of his voice, but eventually she settled on a mix of confusion and concern. “Granger? Since when do you call me that anymore?”

The Healers had assured her memory loss was nowhere on the list of potential effects.

“Since you _told_ me to,” Draco hissed.

All at once, Hermione understood. “Oh,” she said brokenly. “So I was there, then.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “There?”

But Hermione didn’t get the chance to explain, because just then there was the sound of impact and a splash from behind her. She turned to see Harry, standing in the doorway, a spilled coffee cup at his feet and eyes fixed on Draco.

“He’s only been awake for a few—” She didn’t need to finish though, because Harry had already barreled into the room and thrown his arms around Draco, head buried between his neck and shoulder.

Hermione had quietly stood up and turned to leave, preparing to give them some time and go contact Narcissa, when Draco’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ve finally died, then.”

She turned around to face them again just in time to see Harry pull back from the blond, stricken. “What?”

Draco smiled, sitting up now and looking genuinely elated. “Do you love me?” he inquired of Harry.

Foreboding settled heavily on Hermione’s shoulders.

“I—of course I do,” Harry told him, still horrified.

“Then I must be dead.”

Harry looked up at Hermione helplessly.

“Draco,” Hermione said carefully. “You’re not dead. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

The blond blinked for a moment, an uncomfortable look crossing his face. “I was in Potions. Snape was... then you leaned over and told me I missed Harry’s birthday. I was, er, surprised that you’d speak to me.” He shook his head like he was clearing it. “Then nothing... I was just suddenly here.”

Harry reached out and took Draco’s hand in his. The blond flinched in surprise but didn’t pull it away.

“That wasn’t real,” Harry told him. “Do you remember the battle? Getting hit with the curse?”

Draco’s eyebrows scrunched together. “The battle...?”

“With Voldemort,” Harry said slowly. “In the graveyard.”

For several tense moments, the Slytherin only looked at them in confusion. Hermione saw the exact moment that the memory came to him. “Oh _gods_ ,” said Draco.

`&`

It hadn’t been real. None of it had been _real_ . Draco could remember everything now, everything that been scratching at the back of his mind for Merlin only knew how long. He’d spent what felt like ages firmly believing that the hell he had dropped into was reality before he’d begun to sense something was truly off. After he’d realised that, it had become a challenge of endurance, seeing how long it would go on before—well, he’d assumed he’d die at some point. He never imagined that he would come out of it alive. He hadn’t even been able to remember what _it_ was.

But now it all made sense. Harry was still staring at him, fear and hope mingled in his eyes, a more vivid green then the nightmares had ever managed to produce. That this was really happening struck him once again, knocking the wind out of him for a moment.

He was alive.

And Harry Potter was looking at him like he loved him.

Draco grabbed the back of Harry’s neck and pulled him forward, crashing their lips together. He decided this was far better than being dead.

Not nearly long enough later, Harry pulled away. Draco’s heart stopped, the fear that this was another cruel dream rushing back. That was, until Harry said, “I’m so sorry.”

Draco blinked in confusion, even as his heart returned to a normal pace. “For what?”

“Everything,” said Harry. “If I had just listened to you. I mean, you wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for me volunteering. You could have died because I had to go be a hero.”

“Harry—” Draco tried and failed to interrupt.

“No,” he insisted. “Because now I... I’ve had a lot of time to understand Draco. This—week after week of just sitting here. That’s what you were afraid of, and _gods_ you had a right to be. And I was so stupid—”

“Harry,” Draco broke in again. “Harry, stop.”

This time Harry stopped.

“It... none of that matters now. I forgive you, you’ve been through enough,” he said. “We both have, yeah?”

Harry looked at him for a moment before a grin finally spread across his face. “Yeah,” he said, and pressed his lips to Draco’s again.

They kissed for a long time, only breaking apart when an astonished female voice said, “Dragon?”

Draco opened his eyes to find his mother staring at him. Hermione had disappeared a while back, presumably to tell everyone he was awake. Harry moved out of the way likely just in time. Draco had no doubt his mother would have peeled his boyfriend off of him otherwise, as she practically launched herself at him. Draco closed his eyes and sighed into her embrace, a moment passing before he realised she’d begun sobbing.

“I’m alright, mum,” he whispered into her long blonde hair. “I’m alive.”  

She only cried harder.

That was, quite honestly, the first time Draco thought to ask. “Exactly how long was I… out of commision?”

His mum pulled back to look at him, her hands on his cheeks. “Eighty two days.”

Draco swallowed. “What’s today?”

“It’s September 14th,” she told him gently. “Today is a Thursday.”

The shock gradually faded and Draco listened for a while as his mum and Harry told him about what had happened the day of the battle after he’d been hit and since. Eventually, though, they were interrupted when all of Draco’s friends began pouring in.

Pansy practically suffocated him.

It was Ron who was the first to point out that Draco wasn’t actually wounded, and therefore didn’t really need to remain on his hospital bed. The Healers came in and ran a few tests, confirmed that he was fine and told him he was free to go.

That was when it finally occurred to Draco that it might be really nice to get home and have a shower, change his clothes, and, Merlin, eat actual food again.

It took a while to get away from all of his relieved, rowdy visitors, but finally his mother got all of them to leave. Harry didn’t even have to ask, Draco’s mum simply apparated all three of them to the Manor.

Draco ate a truly ungodly amount of food that night, and then—he was ashamed to realise the next morning that, given that he had just come out of a bloody coma that had had him in bed for _months_ —he had promptly fallen asleep.

When he did awake, he found that someone had brought him to his bed. He was alone in it, but his dad sat, seemingly asleep, in the chair across the room. Draco sat up. “Dad?”

The older man opened his eyes immediately. “Awake at last,” he said after a moment.

“I was awake yesterday,” Draco pointed out. “You weren’t there.”

Lucius didn’t meet his eyes. “I was unsure you’d want me there.”

“You’re my dad.”

He looked at Draco again then. “Things had been... strained between us before your accident. I didn’t visit because I felt my presence might harm your recovery.”

Draco blew out a long breath. “I don’t hate you, Dad.”

Lucius’s lip tilted up at the corner, the only indication he understood what Draco was saying. He sobered up within moments, however. “Everything I have ever done had been for you and your mother. When I thought that you would be lost because of me...” He looked Draco right in the eye. “I do not have the words to express how grateful I am that you are alive and well.”

“You and me both,” said Draco.

“I never properly apologised to you, son.”

The younger blond remained silent, unwilling to make any assumptions.

“My behavior when I learned of your... sexual orientation,” he paused, and Draco did his best not to shift uncomfortably. “It was unacceptable of me to treat you as I did. I know that now.”

“Because I almost died?” Draco asked.

“Because you are my son, and I should not have lost sight of that.”

“You made up for it,” Draco said once the words had sunk in. “You did the right thing.”

“Yes, well.” The older man looked around awkwardly before standing. “I’ll go inform your mother and Potter that you’ve woken.”

“Tell them I’m going to take the longest shower I’ve ever taken, so it’s fine if you lot eat breakfast without me. And Dad?” he asked before the older man could leave. “Could you call him Harry?”

Lucius merely nodded and left the room.  

`&`

When Draco and Harry went back to Hogwarts that Monday, the school went into upheaval. Absolutely everyone was all over the both of them. Draco was constantly torn between being touched at the widespread concern and annoyed at the constant attention. He’d even caught nearly all of his Professors staring at him during their lectures. It was somewhat irritating, given that he already had two weeks of coursework to worrying about catching up on.

Midway through the week, though, Draco finally noticed that there was something else to be concerned about: Theo was avoiding him. At first he thought he was imagining things. Theo still hung around the Slytherin common room at night as he always did; still spoke to all his friends as though everything was fine. But whenever Draco would enter the library, or sit down in the Hall to eat, or get anywhere close to Theo, the other boy would get up silently and go find other things to do.

On Friday, Draco decided to mention it to Harry, Hermione and Ron. He definitely hadn’t expected the sharp look Hermione sent Harry’s way, or for Harry to look sheepishly at the floor.

“Am I missing something?” he asked.

“Harry kind of beat him up,” Ron informed him, “said some things to him.”

Draco blinked at Harry in surprise, clearly demanding more of an explanation. Finally, the brunet took a deep breath. “I snapped,” he admitted. “I’d just found out that it was his Dad that cursed you and then—”

“It was Mr. _Nott_ _?!”_ Draco said. He’d never been told which Death Eater had done it, had never asked.

Harry nodded. “And then Theo comes in and tells me he practically sent you in there himself, and I—I accused him of... well. It was wrong, I know. I’ve told him that I was sorry, that I know he wasn’t responsible or anything. But he still... you know.”

Draco stood up from the table. “I’ve got to speak to him.”

Harry looked dejected and guilty. “I’m sorry.”

The blond shook his head to assure him. “No, I don’t blame you. I’d probably have done the same thing in your place, but Theo’s still my friend. I have to fix this if I can.”

And then he left in search.

At four in the afternoon he found Theo, predictably, sleeping. It wasn’t as though waking him up was something he’d never done before, and for far less important reasons. Draco shook the other boy’s shoulder until he groaned irritably and opened his eyes.

“What?” he demanded sharply, but then went carefully blank when he realised it was Draco who’d woken him.

“Hey.”

Theo blinked. “You woke me up to say hey?”

Draco sighed. “I woke you up because you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Who says I’ve been avoiding you,” the other boy defended.

“I know what happened between you and Harry,” Draco said, getting right to the point. “He told me it was your Dad.”

Theo’s eyes flickered away. “Yeah. He got life in Azkaban, if it makes you feel better.”

“You losing your dad does _not_ make me _feel better_ ,” Draco said. “It also doesn’t make me feel better for you to blame yourself for what happened when it was my decision to be in that bloody maze. I would have figured out a way to do what I did with or without you, probably with even worse results.”

“What worse results?!” Theo snapped. “There is no worse, worse would be you dead.”

“But that’s _not your fault_ ,” Draco stressed. “You did nothing wrong. Harry was just scared when he said those things to you. It’s not the truth.”

Theo stared at the hands in his lap. “It felt like the truth. And then they tell me _my Dad_ did that to you. I mean, Merlin, how else was it supposed to look?”

“Theo,” Draco began sternly. “You’re my friend. I don’t want this between us. I want to move on. And for that I need you to stop feeling guilty and let it go, alright?”

After a long moment, Theo looked back up. “Was it... was it horrible?”

“Well it was the worst thing I ever went through, so yeah,” Draco told him bluntly. “But it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. They told me that’s why I didn’t die. And now I want to be grateful for that and get on with my life, be happy now, you know?”

“Okay,” Theo said finally. “I’m... I’m really glad you’re alive mate.”

Draco cracked a smile at that. “Yeah, me too.”

`&`

That night in the Slytherin common room found one Harry Potter laying atop a quiet, contemplative Draco Malfoy on the sofa, watching the fire in front of them burn.

“I wonder how long it will take,” Draco murmured.

Harry, who’s head was on Draco’s chest at the time, looked up at him through his lashes. Draco realised he’d likely been nearly asleep.

“Never mind,” he said soothingly. “It’s nothing.”

Harry released a breath and propped himself up awkwardly so he could meet Draco’s eyes. “No, tell me what you were going to say.”

Draco sighed. “I was only thinking how long it would be before I stop... catching myself. You know, second guessing if all of this is real.”

Harry gave him a long look, his whole heart in his eyes. “You could still... you could still do it, you know. Your parents said you have the option.”

“What, be oblivated? I told you, I can’t do that.”

“It might be good for you,” Harry said. “Why should you have to keep those memories?”

“Because they—I appreciate what I have now. In a way that no one can understand,” Draco explained. “What I went through made me stronger. I can’t just let someone obliviate all of that away.”

Harry nodded, Draco hadn’t exactly left him room to argue, and relaxed back down against him. “Thank you,” he said after a moment in silence.

Draco’s eyebrows drew together. “For what?”

“Being strong enough, I guess. If you had—” He cut himself off, and Draco felt him take another breath. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” said Draco. “Ever.”

 

**Epilogue**

`Seven Years Later`

 

Hermione Granger stood in front of a full length mirror, looking at her simple gown with a mix of wonder and adoration. It was the same long sleeved, lace white dress that her mother had worn to marry her father.

Her mother had just left the room, tears in her eyes, with the promise that she would see her soon.

 _Soon_.

Hermione would marry Viktor soon. In just minutes, in fact. There weren’t too many people here to witness it. They hadn’t wanted to risk the press making an appearance, so the guest list had been narrowed down to family and closest friends. One of which had just opened the door and shut it softly behind him.

She watched fondly as Draco walked up behind her.

“You look stunning,” he informed her. She smiled at him in the mirror. She’d never worn so much make up in her life. Her hair had been painstakingly gathered and tugged into a tight, braided bun atop her head.

“Are you nervous?” the blond asked her gently.

“Were you nervous,” she inquired, “when you married Harry?”

Draco grinned. “Didn’t have much time to be nervous, if you recall.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She recalled quite well the day Draco and Harry had come through her fireplace and announced that they’d just tied the knot. She was still holding a, admittedly very minor, grudge that she hadn’t been there to see it. They hadn’t had much choice, after all, what with the way they were constantly hounded by Skeeter and the rest of the media in those days.

“I wasn’t,” Draco answered genuinely. “Not at all.”

Anxiousness was curling tighter in her stomach with every minute that went by. “I realise the irony of me asking this, to you of all people, but you don’t think I’m too young do you?”

The blond put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her so that she was facing him. She looked up into his unusually serious grey eyes.

“Hermione,” he said. “That’s the last thing that matters and you know it. I mean, gods, they thought Harry and I were crazy; we were _nineteen._ But we knew exactly what we were doing, and so do you.”

“What if I mess it up?” she finally asked. “Viktor’s family has never been all that supportive of us. And his fame... it can be so much sometimes.”

“No more than it’s always been,” he reminded her. “Believe me, it’s worth it. So long as you love him.”

“I do, I always will,” she insisted. She and Viktor had been through so much over the years, but they’d somehow always made it through everything. She never wanted to lose what they had.

“Then you have nothing to be worried about,” he assured her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, those treacherous tears gathering in her eyes for the millionth time that afternoon. “When did you get so wise, Draco Malfoy?”

“Well my best friend is this really smart muggleborn,” he said into her shoulder. “She’s a genius really.”

Hermione giggled and pulled back to smile at him. That was when the door opened again, Pansy’s long black curls swinging inside while she hung onto the handle.

“Hate to interrupt, but everyone’s ready for you now,” she told them. “Merlin, you are a gorgeous bride.”

Hermione beamed at her, she could feel herself blush again. “Thank you, Panse. Tell my Dad I’ll be right out.”

The door swung closed again and Draco turned back to face her. “You deserve every bit of happiness in store for you today, love.”

It was all she could do to keep her tears from spilling over. Not trusting her voice anymore, she nodded.

“I’ll see you out there.”

`&`

“I couldn’t believe it,” Harry was saying to Neville later that evening. “The way Lav dove, the poor bouquet didn’t stand a chance.”

Neville laughed, eyeing Ron on the sofa across from him. “I think she might be trying to tell you something mate.”

Ron had yet to say anything about his girlfriend’s enthusiastic antics.

“Are you ever planning to propose?” Draco inquired lightly, taking a sip of his champagne.

Ron sighed, setting his own empty glass on the small center table. “We haven’t been together all that long,” he finally said.

“This time,” Harry added. “But it’s got to of been almost five years in total by now.”

“And it’s been nearly two since the last time you split,” Neville put in. “Maybe it’s different this time.”

“And maybe it’s not different at all,” Ron replied. “We break up for all the same reasons every time.”

“But you always end up back together,” Neville reminded him.

“Because I love her, but she’s... a lot sometimes,” the redhead finished lamely.

“Let me ask you this then,” Draco said. “Do you honestly see yourself loving anyone else?”

“No,” Ron admitted. “You know I’ve tried dating other people, it never lasts more than a couple weeks.”

“Is it any different on her end?” Draco pressed.

“From what she’s said about it, no.”

“Then you have your answer right there, seems like,” Harry said.

“Married life’s really worth it then?” Ron asked with a half smile.

“Oh definitely,” Draco assured him, a laugh in his voice. “Think a kid might be next.”

Harry couldn’t help sucking in a surprised breath, immediately locking eyes with his husband.

Draco swallowed. “Er—”

“You want kids?” Harry breathed.

“I know we haven’t really talked about it, so if you don’t—”

“No!” Harry cut him off quickly. “No, no. I want kids. But adopting isn’t a small thing, I didn’t know... how to bring it up.”

Draco breathed out, a heart stopping smile breaking across his face.

“Well isn’t this a revelation,” interrupted Pansy’s voice. She perched herself on the arm of the sofa next to Ron, a glass in her hand. “I’d been wondering when you’d get yourselves a screaming infant.”

“No screaming infants in your future then?” Ron asked her.

“Nope,” she replied, lips popping on the _p_. “Settling down and having a litter isn’t in these cards, fortunately. I’ll settle for being a brilliant auntie.”

“Starting to think I might be with you there,” Neville said.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Ah, but we’re free spirits by choice dear,” she reminded him, eyeing a certain blonde across the room.

“She’s got a point Nev,” Harry said. He and Draco knew perfectly well why Neville was still single, and it had nothing to do with choice.

The actual reason chose that moment to stroll into the living space and seat himself on Neville’s knee. “You lot are missing all the fun sitting around here talking,” Blaise informed them.

“We were just discussing why our gorgeous Neville here is still single,” Pansy said, taking a sip from her glass.

Blaise grinned wickedly. “Why, it’s because he’s secretly in love with me, of course. Right Nev?”

This was far from the first time Blaise had obnoxiously made a similar claim, and every previous time that Harry could remember, Neville would make some quip in reply and laugh it off. He fully expected the same to be true now. But then Neville, after releasing a long breath, said, “And what would you do if I was?”

The entire group got very quiet. A beat later, Ron grabbed his empty glass and stood up. Pansy raised her own glass in manner of toast, knocked it back, and made herself scarce as well. Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and followed after his friends, glancing back once to confirm neither Neville nor Blaise had moved.

`&`

Blaise was, admittedly, shocked. Mostly at the timing, though. He and Neville had been eyeing each other since their Hogwarts days, after all. But he hadn’t imagined that Nev would admit that any time soon, much less in the middle of a wedding reception.

“I probably shouldn’t of said that, right?” Neville sighed after a long, quiet moment. He sounded completely resigned.

Blaise rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help it; how much more forward could a bloke be? “Actually, you should have said it a long time ago.”

Neville’s eyes snapped to meet his. “What?”

“I’ve wanted you for years, you tosser.”

“But—”

“I know, I know,” Blaise sighed. “I flirt with everything that moves and I get around. But I was always just waiting on you. That’s why none of that other stuff worked out.”

Neville was staring at him, mouth slightly open but apparently unable to reply. Blaise eyed those lips for a few seconds, to give them a chance to form words. When that didn’t happen, he decided he’d been patient enough.

The first touch of his lips on Neville’s and the Gryffindor gasped. Next moment, they were kissing. Deeply. It was like this was oxygen and they’d both been deprived for an impossibly long time.

`&`

“Do you think Ron will propose?” Harry asked his husband later that night. They’d returned to their flat in London about an hour ago. It was the early hours, and Harry lay on their sofa with his legs across the blond’s lap.

“No question,” Draco told him. “Think Blaise and Neville will last?”

“They’d better,” said Harry. “Took them bloody long enough to get together.”

“I honestly didn’t pick up on it until a couple years ago,” Draco admitted.

“And _I’m_ the unobservant one,” Harry scoffed.

Draco laughed aloud. “Speaking of unobservant,” he said when he’d finished, “you really didn’t know I wanted kids?”

Harry smiled. “I couldn’t be sure. And what if you’d said you didn’t? I thought it was better for now not to know.”

“Boy or girl?” Draco asked by way of reply.

Harry met his eyes, unable to stop smiling. “It wouldn’t matter.”

“And if I said I wanted a little girl first?”

Harry sat up to press his lips against Draco’s. He knew he’d always get a rush from kissing him, no matter how many years went by. “I’d say that’d be brilliant. And I’d say I love you.”

` _Fin`_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads this. And thanks a million to everyone who has or will comment, I really appreciate/d it c:


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